Unsaid
by Calenlass Greenleaf
Summary: [Complete] "You don't think about eternity, not when some of the sand in the glass has been removed and you're not sure just how much is left. You took your chances now, and lived for now." [Hijikata/Saitou][Ten parts; see inside for notes and warnings]
1. I

**Title:** Unsaid

**Author:** Cal (Calenlass Greenleaf); findarato-ingoldo on tumblr

**Disclaimer:** これわIF/DFの薄桜鬼。これわ カズキ・ヨネ の キャラデザ。

**Spoilers:** Hopefully fits into…canon. Ish. Covers main game and mentions Zuisouroku/Memories and Reimeiroku of Hijikata's route, and overlaps slightly with Saitou's route in all aforementioned games (There's actually a lot of mentions of Reimeiroku). If you've played the games you'll know the difference. This fic does not take into consideration much of the anime/movies except for one element that'll be quite obvious later.

**Rating:** Ranges from G to M.

**Warnings:** Violence, minor canon character death, questionable morals in regards to killing, blood-drinking, Hijikata and his colourful language, and…you guessed it, my weird smut that isn't quite smut but it's definitely there and more than just implied. IDK it's emotional porn or something. Also throw in some angst and hurt/comfort and Saitou being absolutely confused when people express concern over him…not that Hijikata is any better.

**Pairing:** Hijikata/Saitou, Saitou/Hijikata; implied future Hijikata/Chizuru and mentions of Saitou/Chizuru

**A/N:** Hijikata and Saitou don't "end up together" in this fic. The thing is, I don't like to totally AU things. I don't like fics in which characters are sometimes blatantly ignored/bashed (read: Chizuru. Why is it always Chizuru getting shafted and bashed) like they don't exist. Hakuouki might be an otome game with many routes, but those routes overlap. If you ignore how certain characters interact, you're a disgrace to the fandom. So for me, if I want a pairing to work, I work with all those relationships. I choose whatever route seems best for the pairing, so that I can hopefully deviate very little from those routes. This one, I set in Hijikata's route, but work in a little bit of Saitou's route because I believe in leaving room so as to not step on other characters/relationships. This one is actually…pretty canon compared to _Ikiro_. I don't write smut for the sake of smut; it's just supposed to happen. Like I originally planned for maybe two scenes, but as I wrote, it changed. More than once.

**A/N #2:** This fic is formatted like _Ikiro_. Odd numbers are Hijikata's POV; even numbers are Saitou's POV.

**.**

**Chapter notes:** Timeframe for this part is post Reimeiroku but pre-main game. Inspired by a fanart with Hijikata and Saitou looking out at…either rain or snow. I tried to find the art but I seemed to have lost it, but it was a nice little moment.

**Rating for this part:** G/K

* * *

><p><strong><em>Unsaid<em>**

_Loyalty isn't grey. _

_It's black and white. You're either loyal completely, or not loyal at all. _

_And people have to understand this._

_You can't be loyal only when it serves you._

**.**

**I.**

"…Saitou."

"Yes?"

"You don't have to stand out there."

"I do not mind it."

The muscle near his eye twitches. It's hot, it's muggy, and on top of it all, it's raining. Hijikata feels and probably looks like a bedraggled rat, with his bangs uncomfortable sticking to everything. Even his ponytail is heavy and clings to the back of his neck where it isn't covered by clothing. But at least he's standing under the cover of a restaurant roof. Saitou, on the other hand, is a little ways off directly in the rain. His hair is a heavier curtain than it usually is, with water dripping down the strands. His uniform looks to be soaked through, and there are droplets sliding down his face and nose and Hijikata wonders if he can actually see.

"Are you looking to catch a cold? Because that's a fast way to find one."

"I will be fine." Even as he speaks, Saitou shakes his head to fling rain off himself. How he manages to even look dignified even while drenched is probably only something he can do.

Hijikata has half a mind to reach out and drag him out of this downpour. Instead, he thins his lips and tries to think of ways to reason with him.

"If you get sick, we'll be short on captains. And," a deliberate pause. "You're needed next week, for that meeting."

Saitou tilts his head, appearing to deliberate this.

"…look, it's not much more comfortable here. But at least you won't be any wetter. Do you want the colours of your haori to run?"

It's unlikely they'll run, but that argument seems to work. Saitou hesitates for a few more brief moments before he moves to stand in the shadows with Hijikata. They are an arm's length apart, perhaps. It somehow feels both very close and very far.

Hijikata is not exactly scrutinising Saitou, but neither are the thoughts flitting through his mind the casual kind. Sometimes, he forgets that Saitou and Heisuke are the same age. A minor thing, but Saitou has always carried himself with a grace that Hijikata knows, even for all his years of being a samurai, will never have. Maybe there really is a difference between those born into a samurai family and those who had to claw their way to this status. Even if the Shinsengumi didn't care about those statuses, and it was skill with a sword and a level head in fight that was preferred, there were certain things he knows he probably has trespassed or unwittingly ignored. It isn't as if he could ask Saitou about some of these things. Where would the questions even being? Oh, he has no doubt if asked, Saitou would answer readily, but was it even important at the end of the day?

The other pauses in the middle of wringing out the rainwater from his hair. "Is something wrong?"

Hijikata realises he might've let his eyes become a little too sharp. "No, nothing."

"If there is anything I can do, please let me know."

_It would be easier to give a list of things NOT to do than to do,_ he thinks wryly. Saitou is still dripping, but he isn't shivering, which is probably the only good thing about this warm weather. But it has to be uncomfortable, no?

It's on the tip of tongue to remark on this, but watching Saitou straighten his scarf and uniform, he can't seem to. Was it pride or respect? Or both?

He ends up straightening the cords his uniform as well, adjusting his swords so they didn't catch. However, it suddenly comes undone in the back.

"Fukuchou, allow me—"

"No, it's—"

How does he even move that fast? Saitou seems to forget that only a minute or two ago he was refusing to stand next to Hijikata, and now he's taking the thin cords, fingers tying a proper knot before crisscrossing them. He drops them over Hijikata's head, managing to not touch his hair or even his neck.

He realises his mouth is still open and he shuts it.

Saitou steps back, and then it seems to dawn on him. "I—" he gathers his thoughts. "—I apologise if that's to forward of me."

"What?"

"I understand that fukuchou is capable of fixing his own uniform, so I did not think…"

"No, it's all right." Perfectly so. "Thank you, Saitou."

"Think nothing of it."

And he usually wouldn't. He usually doesn't think about the times Saitou carries out his orders without question, the advice he will give that seems to solve so many of his problems, even down to the times he'll bring tea or food or even medicine without being asked.

Hijikata catches Saitou's eye. "No, truly—thank you." It's a simple enough phrase, but he tries to inflect the tone to convey just what he means.

When he sees a faint smile, he knows he got it. But try as he might, every time he thinks that Saitou probably deserves more than gratitude, he doesn't know what to do. Saitou is now standing still, seemingly unbothered by how sodden his clothes are. If Hijikata told him to take off his outer haori in order to be more comfortable, he'd probably refuse.

Still, there is something oddly companionable, watching the rain together that he likes. From the corner of his eye, he still sees the smile, and knows Saitou probably thinks the same.

**.**


	2. II

**Timeframe:** Still pre-main game. I need to stop doing terrible things to Saitou, seriously.

**Rating for this chapter:** T/PG-13

**Warnings:** Implied violence, and the mind that is Saitou's as he tries to figure things out...and sort of fails.

* * *

><p><strong>II.<strong>

It's not being invincible so much as it's being alert. He watches, waits, and observes—sometimes within mere seconds of each other. He dodges just as well as he stabs. Injuries are a weakness, fallibility, unwanted. This is how he usually manages to walk out of a fight covered in someone else's blood with nary a scratch.

Unlike what many people say, Saitou finds that bloodstains are not hard to remove, no harder than other stains. Just a little more soaking in water, and scrubbing, and his clothes would be pristine once again. He does not keep count of the people he has killed…

_However, it is an anomaly that your own blood is more difficult to wash out, to wipe out of your memory. Time flashes by and yet if feels as you are caught in the middle of it, suspended. The splash of red is first, then the realisation—thoughts that you have erred, badly, and you can't allow it to happen again. Even more so when the first pain that steals your breath away arrives, touching nerves and skin and muscle and whatever else in your body and interrupting your vision._

_But, you breathe and it clears. The pain doesn't fade, but neither does it intensify, it is now a part of you, and you imagine holding it in the palm of your hand and casting it to the wind. You can still continue. This is nothing._

_It's just a little harder at that point. Movement slowed, steps more awkward—but you can still manage. There are worse things to happen._

_Or someone could also slam you into the side of a building and suddenly splinters and glass fragments in your skin. The vision you managed to steal back is now useless, with more pain blossoming in your head and racking shudders through your frame._

_When you fall, you fall slowly. More than one person calls your name. You want to remind them that head injuries bleed a lot, that usually injuries are worse than they appear. However, your tongue can't seem to work. You remain upright for a little while longer before it all fades and the last thing you think about is how troublesome this will be._

His eyes, heavy from sleep and hours of tightly squeezing them shut, pull themselves open with an effort. Was he musing or dreaming? Or both? For days now, Saitou has floated this world of halfs—half awake, half conscious, half formed words and apologies, half attempts to rise and resume his usual duties. However, he's not the master of his own body now. Pain is. It has made its home in his chest, wrapped around ribs and gripping his wrist (his right one; whoever had stepped on him probably missed out on the fact he's left-handed) and various other parts of his body. Pain that causes him to be immobile and brought a plethora of other problems; he can't sleep well, eat much, and there's definitely something about a fever that he ought to be worried about but he can't because it's hard to think about anything.

But Saitou not so unfocused that he misses the sound of a door sliding open and all-too-familiar footsteps that make his body seize and he makes a great effort to sit up—

Only to be pushed down with a hand on his good shoulder. "Don't," Hijikata says.

"But—"

"I'm serious." Hijikata sits down, hand still out as if he expects Saitou to try again. "Look at yourself. You're not fit to even sit up."

At those words, something hurts more than his injuries. He wants to shut his eyes and pretend to be asleep, so as to not face this. "My apologies, fukuchou." The words stick to his throat and he swallows with some difficulty. "I have failed you."

"Failed?"

"If I had been more careful…no," At the very least, he can roll on his side so as to not be flat on his back while talking to a superior. "This all might've been prevented if I had stopped the argument earlier. I have no excuses to offer in regards to my lack of capability in—"

"Saitou."

"…yes, fukuchou?"

"You're bleeding through your bandages."

He can't tell if he's embarrassed because Hijikata can see his injuries or if he's mortified that his own body is betraying him. "I will fix them—"

"No. I told you not to get up. Do you want me to make that an order?"

His mouth opens, and then he shuts it. Distressed, his fingers curl in the blankets as he waits tensely for what Hijikata has to say to him.

"You did nothing wrong." He takes out a packet from the folds of his kimono—which Saitou recognises. "If a person can predict how a fight goes—the Shinsengumi would have a far easier job, no? From what I heard, you took an injury, but continued to fight until someone threw you into a building…and from the looks of you afterward, it's nearly a miracle you weren't trampled to death."

Hijikata pours a cup of water from the kettle that someone has left in his room, frowns a little at its tepidness, and continues. "If you had rushed into this without thinking, then yes, I would have reason to be disappointed."

"But I am injured." Even as he says this, he feels very foolish. Obviously he is. Severely so. One could tell metres away.

The other man snorts. "Injuries don't mean failure. I'm relieved that you're here covered in wounds rather than with a cloth over your face." He shifts closer. "Here."

Saitou thinks about these words as his head is lifted and as he tastes bitter herbs that let him know this is Ishida Powdered Medicine (say what you want, Sano. He believes in it). It's somehow distracting, so he doesn't have to think about the fact that his Vice Commander is holding his head up with a cup to his mouth because his own hand is too shaky for that. He's almost glad he's feverish; it hides the state of his face and ears and the odd pulse of his heart.

He hears himself still apologising. "I'm sorry."

"Saitou." Hijikata eases his head back down. "If you say that one more time, then I'll find something for you to actually be sorry about."

Was he serious? Probably not, by the wry smile on his face.

"I'm relieving you of your duties until you don't look like you're on the verge of death. Or, least until a doctor says your wrist is healed," he adds on, probably from the look of dismay that Saitou can't help revealing in his eyes. "…is it…shattered?"

Because they both know the implications of shattered bones, of the high possibility of never fully gaining functions back.

"No, it was a clean break." It had been set straight and he's avoided moving it at all. "I'm all right."

Hijikata looks as if he wants to contend that statement, but he doesn't. Rather, he does something that Saitou won't forget, not for a long time. His fingers brush aside Saitou's bangs—they're unkempt and he's ashamed—lingering over the bandages as his eyebrows knit together while he surveys the bruises on the side of Saitou's face.

"You did good. I was worried when I heard what happened, but you handled it way that's befitting of the Shinsengumi." Those fingers, rough like his from swordwork and duties, are soft in their perusal of his face. "I'll send someone over with food and more medicine." Hijikata lifts his hand away, and Saitou can't tell if he's relieved or if he misses it. Something about him is very tense, like he's afraid to move and ruin the moment.

"You did good," Hijikata repeats, before he rises and leaves the room. "Sleep well."

Saitou can't quite untangle how he feels. He fights sleep—there was something mixed into that powder—and tries to sort it with clumsy, confused combing that only seem to snarl everything worse.

He does know one thing: he can't afford any more injuries. Hijikata said he had been worried. He had distracted Hijikata from his usual thoughts to take the time to think about him. That's inconceivable and awful. Things should've gone so there was no need for worry, for concern over a subordinate who is supposed to perform his tasks close to perfection.

Hijikata has done so much for him, and this is how Saitou repays him? With injuries and being forced to lie in bed until he's allowed out?

Try as he might, his mind goes back to words 'you did good,' with the dangerous remembered touch. It's not that Hijikata is stiff, without emotions or empathy. He's seen hard-bitten eyes soften when Kondou makes a joke, and rare nostalgia when the others talk about Shieikan with a real smile. But _concern_. For _him_.

Sleep drags him down, and he, guiltily, knows that he'll hold on to this memory for a long, long time. He tries to insist to himself this is all wrong, but it was nice.

It was nice to know he has a place here.

**.**


	3. III

**Timeframe:** During main game, a little before Itou and his faction break off. More of a transitional chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>III.<strong>

Sometimes it's satisfying to crumble up paper and throw is as hard as possible against a wall. He'll pick it up in a few minutes and smooth it out.

Souji is a problem. But he always has been.

Sannan-san is a growing problem. He gets the feeling they'll be losing more people to the ochimizu, and he doesn't like it.

Those…oni. That Kazama. A damn problem too. He's not paid enough to deal with smirking assholes who want to kidnap innocent girls.

But Itou is his biggest fucking problem. He's pretty sure the "faction" he is forming will soon break away.

While Hijikata has half a mind to let them do that, he knows that problems won't be solved just because Itou is separate. Powerplays are too common, with opinions and unrest that run free like old ladies' gossip. He'd love to keep the Shinsengumi out of it all. Really. Less of a headache for him and his men when he has sent them out to clean up.

There are other problems, too. It's like…no one wants him to listen. What, did he suddenly become someone who can't be trusted with secrets or worries? Souji as a default doesn't open up to him. But Heisuke's more distant each day, Yukimura says nothing, and he feels like they might as well all cut out their tongues and resort to gestures to get everything done. Pretty sure that's not impossible, with how well they fight together and can understand commands—

But that's chasing foolish, useless thoughts. Hijikata doesn't deal with 'if only's or 'what if's. He deals in many solutions and picking the best one.

At the very least, he knows he can depend on Saitou. He's hinted, not subtly, about something only his Third Division Captain could do. Saitou is there, unfailingly, to carry out what is asked of him with only the necessary questions. No doubts, no indecisiveness. Hijikata has, unintentionally, tested this before. What he asks for, Saitou delivers. Always.

That, he finds, is reassurance in this sea of turmoil that life has become. Stability. He remembers one time he let himself get drunk, and it was Saitou who put up with his ramblings and then in the morning left water for him. So far only one other person has done as well as Saitou, and it actually embarrasses him that he yelled at Yukimura while drunk. What sort of decent man did that? It reminds him too much of the time Serizawa was drunk and ready to take out his anger on two geishas until Hijikata stepped in and later hated himself for several days.

People shouldn't let him drink. End of story.

Hijikata finally shuffles over to the paper and sighs as he looks at smeary, wrinkled words that seem to hold a world and not just a message. He's…worried. Even if it's Saitou. Even if it'll be a job well done with no complaints on either end.

Because, he thinks, for a fraction of a second or even less than that, what if it goes terribly wrong?

"Fukuchou. It's Saitou." The familiar words catch him crumbling the paper again between his fingers, and he hurriedly shoves it away in a drawer.

"Come in."

"Please excuse me." Saitou opens the door and bows his head. "You wished to see me, fukuchou."

He makes an affirmative sound. "It's about Itou."

"Yes."

"He's gotten out of hand."

"So you say."

"He'll probably find a reason to leave."

"I am aware of such, yes."

"How many times has he invited you out?"

"Several times. He has complimented my abilities at least twice."

"I see." Stealing his men, right under his nose. He wishes he had held onto the paper, for something to crumble again. Instead, he crushes the sleeve of his kimono in his fist. "Saitou, I'm going to ask something of you that's dangerous and highly confidential. You may refuse this mission if you find it impossible."

"Something that fukuchou asks of me is not impossible."

Sometimes, it's frightening how much Saitou trusts him. "I want you to infiltrate Itou's faction when he leaves. Spy on him. Let me know what he's up to. Can you do that?"

Saitou inclines his head. "I am willing. He does not believe me to be a threat, and I believe I can integrate myself among his men with no complications."

"You'll have to report back every week or two weeks."

"I will manage that."

"…if Heisuke goes, he is not to know. At least," Hijikata pauses. "Not at first. Do so at your own judgment if you want to tell him."

"Fukuchou, I have a question."

"Go ahead."

"Are the inspectors aware of this?"

"Not yet." That had been the words he'd been trying to write but frustration had made him give it up for the moment. "I don't want too many people knowing about this. Kondou-san knows, but I haven't told Sannan-san." And he probably won't. "Any other questions?"

"One more." Saitou looks him straight in the eye. "How long will I be gone?"

"…indefinitely." It's not hard to predict the outcome of all of this—once Itou leaves, he'll be able to freely express his contempt, and who knows when murder might arrive. "I'm sorry I can't give you a proper timespan."

"Indefinitely or specifically, I am fine with such." Saitou bows. "I will carry these orders out to the best of my abilities."

Hijikata waits until he has straightened his back. "Thank you for taking this on."

It doesn't even matter if he more or less knew Saitou would say yes, that he'd agree to such difficult terms. He still has to hear it, as opposed to simply ordering him without explanations. He's not that much of a demon, no matter what people say about him.

"I'm honoured to perform this duty."

_You'd say that if I told you to interrogate someone and then kill him._ His face almost twists into a bitter smile, but habit makes him train his face to be stern. "It's late; I know you have a patrol, so we'll discuss more of this at another time."

"As you wish." Another bow, and Saitou is on his feet. "Fukuchou…"

"Hm?"

"About Heisuke." Saitou shows his first hesitancy, and it is not for himself. "When a certain time comes, because it may, and should things turn for the worse…"

"Well do something about it." Hijikata finishes this sentence for him. It's Heisuke. He's a brat, but an honest brat with a good heart and a mind that's confused right now about where he stands. Hijikata both understands and doesn't understand, but this is another reason why he's sending Saitou and not another man. Saitou and Heisuke are, after all, the same age and he knows Heisuke would be better off if someone he's close to were with him. It might even help in his future views. "Don't worry."

"If fukuchou says so, then I will have no thoughts of scepticism cross my mind." Saitou shows himself out with his usual polite words, and shuts the door behind him.

Hijikata allows himself a smile, the kind that's both relieved and sad. "Honestly, Saitou," he murmurs, "what would I do without you sometimes." Place his trust in someone else, of course, but there is no one else here that is quite like Saitou Hajime.

But there's things he does wonder about: Saitou, after all, showed up at Shieikan out of the blue and nearly beat Souji. Even when he's had several drinks, he wasn't very forthcoming with his personal life. And then there's the matter of why he stopped coming to Shieikan, and why he found them in Kyoto and joined without hesitation. He's long since known the stories of his other captains; they shared those freely and unconcernedly, but after all these years, Saitou has been silent.

He can't help he curious; he knows if he demanded answers, Saitou would give them. If one got down to the heart of it, he could tell Saitou to kill himself, and the man would do it.

That's a thought that unsettles him. He's not infallible; in the past Serizawa had been fond of pointing it out. Souji still points it out, and he'd be stupid to think he's almighty. How did he even manage to get himself in such regards in Saitou's eyes? Did he even deserve such merit?

Hijikata shakes his head and sighs, before turning back to his desk. With this mission, he'll see less of Saitou and that's actually one of the things he dislikes about this. He, without ever admitting it to anyone, has grown accustomed and maybe even a little fond of the comings and goings of Saitou every day, with his quiet voice and his sense of unfailing duty.

The last thing he wants to do is destroy that kind of trust. It wouldn't be the Shinsengumi without Saitou.

_I suppose I need him._

_Does he need me, though?_

The question is directed at no one but himself.

**.**


	4. IV

**Timeframe:** IV. Main game, Saitou and Heisuke are with Itou now. Saitou plays ninja. Are they getting somewhere? Maybe 8)

* * *

><p><strong>IV.<strong>

It's surprisingly easy.

He's sure some people suspect him, but after months, there are no direct questions and he is anything but careless. He's respected and for the most part, it's nearly just as routine as when he was in the Shinsengumi.

…that's not to say he doesn't miss the Shinsengumi. The camaraderie is different, the atmosphere not right, and despite compliments presented to him, he still stays to himself. The art of disappearing is very much his. At most, he speaks more to Heisuke, but even they have awkward, silent moments, especially when they bring up certain names. Not to mention people would talk if they associated too much.

They both lack something while here.

Even so, Saitou considers himself fortunate. Late nights during which he slips back home with messages and reports are things he looks forward to. Yes, home. Home is where his Vice Commander is, and no other place. When the time comes, he will no longer play this part and be where he belongs, once again.

Tonight is nothing unusual. While there is more bite in autumn's chill and the wind seems to like to drag him in the opposite way he's supposed to go, it's manageable and all he does is curl his hands more tightly in his sleeves and tighten his shoulders so that his nose buries against his scarf. Still, it's later than his usual arrival when he slips in headquarters, taking care to bypass guards and certain doorways. He knows who are the light sleepers, the late ones, or the overly cautious, and he's quite sure none of them know he is here. Even if tonight his footsteps are a little clumsier because of the cold that has made a temporary stay in his body. He reaches Hijikata's room, where a light, as he expects, still burns. After listening for a moment to make sure no one else is in, he calls out softly.

"Fukuchou."

No reply.

Odd, but not too odd. He waits exactly thirty seconds before trying again. When there's still no answer, he makes the choice of opening the door.

He glad he did; he sees Hijikata slumped over his desk.

"_Fukuchou_." The door clatters behind him as he rushes over. As he's about to put his hands on his shoulders, Hijikata jerks upright.

"What?" He scrubs at his face, bangs sticking to one cheek. "Ah, I fell asleep. But—" he blinks at Saitou. "You're—"

"Are you all right? Should I summon someone to find a doctor?" Forget secrecy; if Hijikata is ill, he can't be up.

"N,no." One hand tangles at the bangs and a grimace crosses his face. "I forgot you were coming in tonight. So many things have happened this week. But I'm not ill."

"But you look pale," Saitou presses the issue. This isn't the first time they've had this conversation, if it can be called a proper conversation. "Are you sure—?"

"I'm sure." A less sleepy look replaces the cloudy gaze in Hijikata's eyes. "I'm just…tired." Grudgingly. He rubs his forehead, and catches Saitou's admonishing look. "Really."

"If you're tired, then you should sleep."

"And leave this work to someone who doesn't know what they're doing?"

"If you are the only person capable of such tasks, then you ought to be more careful."

Hijikata looks him as if he's about to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, he frowns.

Saitou takes a step back in his mind. "Fukuchou, I'm not lecturing you, nor do I think you're incapable of handling yourself. You have a sound mind and the decisions you make are certainly those of someone knowledgeable. However," he takes a breath, "it is poor health and posture with these long hours that you keep. I regret that I cannot be around to bear some of those burdens, but I hope that you can find the occasion to rest."

He realises that, for once, Hijikata has not interrupted his concerns. Usually, he'll cut him off and thank him for thinking about him, and then they speak of other things, but tonight, Saitou has said nearly everything on his mind.

"Are you…finished?" Almost cautiously, if Saitou is reading his tone of voice correctly.

"I—" Did he just reprimand his own leader, even though he didn't mean to? "My apologies, fukuchou," he hastily adds, lowering his head. "It isn't my place to judge you."

"Judge?"

"I spoke rashly and out of turn. If you wish to find fault with me, you may do so." The worst is that he'll be thrown out…

…actually, that's terrible and he can't imagine it. Wandering, lost, with no goal? It's worse than death. It's more shameful than killing a hatamoto, which is one of the worst incidents in his life. He'll commit seppuku before that.

But Hijikata is allowed to command anything of him. He waits, and tries not to shiver.

"Saitou."

"_Hai_."

"…do I really look that tired?"

He dares to raise his head. Hijikata peers at him, mouth in a thin line, but there's no anger on his face. "No," he replies honestly as he resists the urge to curl his hands so that he can feel his fingers. "Only a little." It could just be shadows from the light, and not actual circles under his eyes. Perhaps a tell-tale hoarse voice, but nothing noticeable to the casual outsider.

He's Saitou. He's supposed to notice, for who else would? "I don't want to see you ill," he finally admits, seeing how Hijikata seems to be waiting for him to say more. "Because…even those claimed to be demon commanders can fall ill."

"Are you reminding me of that time during the summer when everyone panicked over a little cold?" Hijikata snorts. "You'd think I had something deathly, the way Kondou-san ran in when he heard I was sick." He rubs the back of his neck. "Maybe I ought to let myself be spoiled every once in a while."

"…" he can't seem to find a reply for that. "Maybe?" he ventures.

"Ah—" Hijikata waves a hand. "That was a joke."

"…" He covers up his blunder with clearing his throat, still trying to supress his shivers. "I see. Fukuchou, should I give my report?"

A blink, and then Hijikata is all business in an instant. "Yes. Anything new?"

Saitou gives him a run-down of the week, of Itou's activities and the going-ons of other people. It's…surprisingly good news. Things are at a standstill, which can almost be a respite if one looks at it the right way. No worry for deaths yet.

The other man listens for the most part, only asking clarification twice. "Looks like we'll at this for a while longer." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm almost tempted to pull you out and switch in someone else."

This is news. "Why?"

"Because this ought to be a job for two people, not one."

"Am I not…satisfactory?"

"No, no, nothing like that." Hijikata tips his head sharply, his bangs brushing his face. "I don't doubt you one bit. But it must be exhausting, no?"

"It is all right. Fukuchou's duties are far more exhausting. I have no complaints."

"Is that why you've been shivering for the past fifteen minutes?"

"…" He curses his own mistake, for being distracted that he has shown weakness.

"…If I could, I would've sent a message for you to tell you that all of this could've waited until tomorrow, or whenever it's less cold."

"It was only windy tonight. Winter is nearly here, after all."

"Still, you're going to be the one getting ill if you keep this up."

"I will be fine."

"Really?"

Does Hijikata actually want him to run out of explanations? Saitou desperately tries to think of something else to say. "Yes," he finally replies. It's a terrible answer.

"And only a little while ago, you were telling me to rest."

"Because it is fukuchou."

"So it's all right for you to be concerned about me, and not the other way around?"

Saitou ducks his head, and wishes he could pull his scarf up higher. Something that sounded like 'that is the way ought to be' is mumbled.

"Give me your hands."

He doesn't wait to ask if that's a command or not. Something tells him even if he refuses, Hijikata will probably ignore his protest. He holds him out, inwardly wincing at how red they are.

Hijikata bites back half a curse when he curls his fingers around Saitou's. "I don't send men out so that they come back like this," he mutters. "This is unacceptable."

He almost apologises for the weather before he stops himself, because he can only apologise for so much. Tugging his hands away, he finally takes the time to adjust his scarf. "This weather is not permanent."

"No, but I don't want you going out there yet." Hijikata gets up to stoke the fire in the brazier, and the room is instantly a little warmer. "Wait here."

"Fukuchou?"

"I'm getting tea."

"But—"

"Stay, I said."

The brazier is enough, he wants to argue. But Hijikata is already out the door and he's left kneeling there.

Is this for real?

Saitou bites the inside of his mouth, and has half a mind to leave before Hijikata returns. But that wouldn't be courteous or proper, and he resigns himself. He rubs warmth back into his hands and feet, and finally stops shivering. A good thing it was only wind, not snow or rain.

The sound of Hijikata's footfalls cause him to scramble from his relaxed position into a more appropriate one. "I'm sorry to take up your time."

"No, I was going to make myself tea, anyway. Didn't want to wake up Chizuru for that." Hijikata sets down a tray with two cups and then hands one to Saitou. "Here."

Saitou reaches for it, then stops. "Will you not—?"

"I like my tea less hot. But you should drink it now. I want to see you finish that before you leave."

"Very well. Thank you." He receives the proffered cup and allows it to warm his hands as the steam curls towards him. Really, it ought to be the other way around. He ought to have been the one to make tea and bring it for the both of them.

He takes a sip.

…

Never in his life has he been so thankful that he is very, very excellent at hiding emotions on his face. But even so, this takes an effort.

"Well?"

"It's warm." That's a truth.

"Good." Hijikata takes his own cup.

"—Fukuchou."

"Ah?" The cup his halfway to his mouth.

"Didn't you say you didn't like such hot tea?"

"Oh. Yes." Hijikata sets it back down, and Saitou keeps his eyes on it. "I forgot Chizuru usually waits for it to cool before she brings it to me. Heh." A half-smile. "It's really become a permanent job for her."

Probably for the best, Saitou says as he takes another sip, and then another. It's near scalding and his tongue will probably hurt tomorrow, but he can't leave until he's finished. By the time he finally manages to tip the cup and drink the last of it, his eyes are watering and his tongue is both numb and aching at the same time. At least he's not cold anymore.

"We seem to have adjusted well to having her here," he says, as a means for conversation and hopefully distracting Hijikata from ever picking up his cup.

"Chizuru? Mm. She's…handy." Hijikata folds his arms and looks at something on his desk, probably one of the papers. "And helpful. Doesn't ask many questions, and even the food is better after she started helping. Somehow, I think we're spending less on food because of the way she manages to cook."

"There is still no word on her father?" His tongue is not quite numb anymore and hurts when his teeth scrape over the surface.

A sigh. "No. Only rumours, and not the welcome kind. But what can you do? She…very cheerful."

And sometimes, she doesn't seem to have to try. Despite everything, despite all the events, Yukimura found happiness in a lot of things. He remembers only last year's snowfall and how she had made him a rabbit out of snow. He catches himself regretting that this winter, there would be no chance for something like that.

"And the oni?"

Hijikata grimaces. "They show up, they annoy me, and then they leave. Tch; it's like they can't any hints." He picks up his cup. "Especially—what was his name again? Kazama. Talks big, but he's not really _that_ good. On a good day Souji could probably best him."

"Perha—_fukuchou_." He reaches out a hand, but Hijikata is already taking a gulp of his tea. One second slow; is he slipping?

Hijikata's face goes several of the oddest contortions as he slams his cup down and gags. Saitou ends up patting his back, asking something about water or he ought to fetch someone.

"…Saitou. How the hell did you drink that without even blinking?" The other man coughs and finally stops grimacing. "That was _terrible_."

"It was only extremely bitter."

"Bitter? It was _absolute shit_."

"…perhaps you're out of practice? Yukimura has been making tea for so long. Did you forget the last time I made you tea, it was also bitter?"

"Bitter, but still drinkable. Kondou-san likes his tea that level of bitterness. This one's not fit for anyone. So how did you do it?"

Saitou attempts to back away. "I have tasted worse things." Although, it'll be quite a while before he forgets the horrible, gritty bitterness of this tea.

"And you drank it hot. Did you burn your tongue? Is that why you drank it so quickly, because the heat numbed everything?"

Right now, it's his face that's burning. "Think nothing of it, fukuchou."

"You could've told me it was terrible. I feel like I accidentally poisoned you or something."

"But it would be rude of me." If Hijikata poisoned him, either it would be an honest mistake, or he actually deserved such treatment.

"Well, you inadvertently lied to me."

Yes, he did. "I'm sorry." Hijikata had offered it to him, for his health. How could he not accept it? Terrible or no, he is grateful and still embarrassed by such concern.

"Don't be. I'm not upset. I'm…"

He waits.

"I just wish that you would speak your mind more often."

"…I cannot." It's impossible. His thoughts are not important, not unless it is advice or obedience or agreement. Unless Hijikata's life is in danger, he cannot give voice to the many thoughts in his head.

"Why not?"

"There is nothing important about what I think." He says what he firmly believes. "As for the tea—"

"You think this is about the tea?"

"Is it…not?"

Hijikata frowns, and Saitou waits as he seems to sort his thoughts for a reply. "I think…I want to know what I did to deserve this loyalty from you. To the point you'll drink shitty drink."

"It was because of Shieikan. And the tea was warm."

"Shieikan? And forget about the tea."

"Hai. You didn't care if I was left-handed or right-handed. None of you did."

"But then you stopped coming by the dojo. I thought about seeking you out before we left for Kyoto…"

"I killed someone." This confession rushes out, as if the tea did more than burn his tongue—it seemed to loosen it. "And I had to leave."

"For killing someone?" Hijikata frowns, confusion in his eyes. "How is that different from what we do here?"

"It was no ordinary man. He was the son of a hatamoto. They accused me of murdering him." Not many people know this. He told Ibuki, in hopes that his words would help him in his own path. Even presently, he wonders how the other is doing…

However, in this instant, that's not on his mind. He can see the realisation sinking in, and he looks away, gaze trained on Hijikata's shoulder. He doesn't want to see the disappointment or disgust, feelings that he himself has felt and dealt with. "For some time, I tried to live without my sword, but I found I could not."

His hand automatically goes to his blades. "I heard that you were in Kyoto, and I thought…if I were accepted, then there I could find a place to be a warrior with honour once again."

_I was lost, and then I found myself, because of you. Because of the Shinsengumi. Because of Aizu. But how do I speak of that?_

"…you didn't say any of this when you arrived."

_You didn't ask. And I was relieved. Serizawa-san picked up on it, and you were not there to see some of the truth revealed._ "I should have spoken plainly then. If you want to dismiss me, you are free to do so."

"No."

"No?"

"It doesn't matter you did. What any of us did. We left all of that behind in Edo." Hijikata places a hand on his shoulder; Saitou, with practice, only stiffens but doesn't jump. "And you…you're different from me. I had to fight my way here, but I think you've always been one, and even without us, you'd still be a samurai. That's you."

"Me?"

"I don't care what happened in Edo. A murderer? It's probably because they didn't want to acknowledge your skill. How pathetic. You're one of the Shinsengumi and one of my best captains."

It is just him, or is the room a little too warm now? His chest feels oddly tight, and he finds himself clenching his hands into fists but he doesn't care. Hijikata's hand is still on his shoulder. The words are similar, to what Hijikata had said in the past about him being left-handed not mattering.

"I don't think of you as just someone who's great at doing what I tell them do you. I've seen you judge people, too. You do a damn better job of it than me. No—" he shakes his head when Saitou opens his mouth. "You are. This isn't just about duties or titles and ranks. I think…"

Silence squeezes the room even smaller.

"I think I've grown a little fond of you, truth be told." Softly. Maybe a little too softly. "For you as a person, and not just for your skill, Saitou."

It's as if something is physically making him look up. Hijikata looks at him with a genuine smile and eyes warmer than so many other times he's caught him smiling. He tries to look away, but finds he cannot. If he has to admit it, it's not just warmth. More like a banked fire with coals that glowed and all one had to do is stoke it, breathe on it gently and it would come alive.

Saitou did once liken himself to buried in ashes, shrouded as he is during this mission, until the day his Vice Commandeer finds and sets him ablaze once again. Like the heat from the brazier, Hijikata has seeped into him. His thoughts. His…soul. Some men might claim their family name and nobility, but Hijikata has more of a warrior's soul then they'd ever have. He has no second thoughts, no second-guessing. But never would he expect something like this, to be allowed to see deep into the eyes of so great a person, and be recognised not just for talent, for the fibre of his being.

"Saitou?"

He blinks once, twice, thrice, and inhales deeply. "Fukuchou…why…?"

Why _what?_ What is he asking? His thoughts tumble and every one that he grasps, it slips out between his fingers and he needs to find a foothold, something to fall back on as an appropriate reply, anything—

And then the world turns and topples him, when Hijikata leans forward, and presses his lips to Saitou's, fingers burning against his shoulder and reaching to his neck, ears and face. Those lips are dry, slightly cracked because this weather is terrible, but they hold an explanation of their own, of unsaid words and meanings that he can understand, because silence is his second language.

"I'll tell you when I figure it out," Hijikata says when he pulls away, his own face not as pale as before. He clears his throat, as if he lost his voice in those seconds and now he has to regain it. "Is that all right?"

Hijikata understands.

Somehow.

Even if neither of them can say it, they know. It's in they way they breath, how they seem reluctant to move, and the flush in their faces that as nothing to do with room temperature.

Saitou nods, exhaling slowly. "It's all right," he says. What _can_ he say?

"…that tea really was terrible. I'm sorry you drank it." Hijikata licks the corner of his mouth, like he tasted the bitterness on Saitou's lips.

"I should leave." It's probably best he says nothing about the tea.

"…yes. It's later than usual. Will anyone suspect?"

"No; every night I go out, sometimes longer than usual. Whenever I am followed, I stop somewhere for a drink."

"Speaking of drinks—" It seems as if Hijikata does not want to let the matter go. "I'll have better tea next time. Courtesy of Chizuru."

It's utterly ridiculous most of their conversation today is either on Chizuru and tea, and even the fact that Hijikata Toshizou, Vice Commander of the Shinsengumi, just kissed the (ex-)Third Division Captain of the Shinsengumi, doesn't seem to take priority.

A smile tilts one side of his mouth, and it's fine that Hijikata gives him a bemused look for that. "I will return next week with a new report."

"Mhm. Ganbare, Saitou."

"Hai, Fukuchou. Please excuse me."

He doesn't seem to feel the cold as much when he walks out and the wind lashes fabric and hair into his face. His heart is oddly heavy and light, and with an almost careless manner, he sweeps his scarf away. His thumb skims over his mouth, and he curls his hand around that finger, as if he can hold onto tonight, for a while longer yet.

Even if that's probably dangerous to hold on to.

**.**

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><p>1. This part was inspired by one of character CDs (I've lost the link for download), in which Hijikata and Saitou have probably one of the best conversations. Plenty of awkwardness and Saitou being Saitou and Hijikata...well. Just read it: lazytranslatorftw DOT wordpress DOT com 201107/30/hakuouki-character-cd-bakumatsu-kafuushou-hijikata-toshizou-03/ it's seriously my favourite thing right now, I swear. (change DOT to . and remove all spaces. FF-Net is an ass.)  
>2. It's canon that Hijikata can't even make tea. Kondou said it. Don't let him near a kitchen-he'll probably burn it down.<p> 


	5. V

**Timeframe:** A little before the Battle of Toba-Fushimi. I wanted this part to happen immediately after, but this was where I screwed up on the timeline (Because Inoue dying and Hijikata becoming rasetsu happened way too fast.) So before it is.

**Rating for this chapter:** R. Definitely R.

* * *

><p><strong>V.<strong>

Nothing happened.

Well, actually a lot of shit happened. Heisuke is now a rasetsu, they're on the brink of war, the fucking demons are playing with him, and he's losing men and sleep fast.

But in terms of him and Saitou, there had been nothing. Saitou couldn't even return for a while because he was labelled a traitor by both sides, and only now did things get so overtly complicated that people nearly forgot why he even left. Beyond the lightest of kisses, they hadn't had a proper chance for anything else. To talk. It's not even on his mind. Even if they ended up in the same room alone, there was always more important matters at hand to discuss.

Like how the foundations they were built upon had been shaken. Disagreements in the Shinsengumi, among the higher-ups. More paperwork. More meetings. More attempts to hold things together. This isn't what he imagined it to be. Yes, he knew, when he came to Kyoto, that there was a lot of shit to be done and a lot of fucked up things to figure out. But he didn't think he'd get sick of it, of people treating them like this, of the pettiness and people's need to curry favour and bribe their way to good graces. Politics made him want to puke.

And now, Kondou was injured badly and things have fallen to Hijikata to hold it all together. Some days he has no idea where he's pulling his ideas, his words, his energy. But he has to keep things from fracturing. Who else is going to do it? It's not just that, either. The rasetsu are a growing problem. Sannan pushed for an increase, but the…bloodlust. That's a fucking problem. Murders of innocents? The crazy, mindless need to drink blood? It was bothersome from the start and it hadn't changed, not after the years.

The ever-present headache between his eyes makes him rub his forehead and look wearily at the letter in front of him. Half completed, unrevised. Like his life and his choices. They're teetering and he is what keeps them from falling over the edge.

What a way to end a year and start one. How long would they even be able to hold out in the magistrate's office? And if they were defeated, what next? The list of allies is small and he easily runs through it in his mind.

The days when all they had to worry about was ronin—that was past. Now, they're fighting in the battles they were told they deserved. They were recognised. They had fame. At what cost? Loyalty these days was easily bought and sold like animals. You couldn't find a warrior that didn't run with their tails tucked between their legs when things got tough. Where was the bravery that he'd admired? Where were those that believed in sincerity, in the banner they raised?

He wants to go and train, slash some straw figures or spar, but he doesn't even have time for that.

"Fukuchou. It's Saitou."

"Come in." Exhaustion makes his voice sharp; he doesn't care if Saitou sees his state of being. No use hiding something that would be picked up on.

"Please excuse me."

All these years, and Saitou has never changed the way he enters and leaves Hijikata's room. He takes a deep breath, and finds comfort in that. "I didn't call for you. Is it urgent?"

"…Yukimura wants to know if you have eaten yet."

"I'll eat later." He'll eat when he can't take hunger anymore…meaning some time in the middle of the night. It's only early evening and he can't put his brush down yet. "Tell her thank you, but I'm all right. If she wants to bring tea, that's fine, too."

"Fukuchou."

"What."

"I do not approve."

"I said I'll be fine. One less meal a day won't kill me. You can go."

Has he ever dismissed Saitou so curtly? A pinprick of something niggles at him, and he glances up to see that Saitou has not moved.

"When was the last time you slept?" The captain asks as if Hijikata hadn't told him to leave.

"It doesn't matter."

"It very much matters."

"No, it doesn't." Hijikata doggedly writes on. "When I finish this letter and get a reply, I'll sleep."

"Fukuchou—"

"I'm not asking for your approval. Thanks for the concern, but I know my limits."

"Limits are not meant to be broken, but to serve as guidelines."

"I know that." A sharp edge lines his voice. He grips his brush tighter. "But you know as well as I do what has to be done."

"I am not telling you to stop."

He slowly raises his head. "Then what?"

Saitou meets his eyes. "Do you need me for anything?"

"No—" He starts to say, but then he bites off the word. Something about the way Saitou said it…and how he sits perfectly still. Poised. Waiting.

"Needs?" The word is repeated, softly, the acid in his voice mostly gone. "I need answers. I need men. I need Kondou-san back. I need Sannan-san and Heisuke to be normal again. I need Shinpachi to quit questioning me even though he's not wrong. I need Souji to be better. I need people who won't fucking stab us in the back—"

His hand curls into a fist. His complaints are pathetic and he's not even sure why he's telling Saitou. "Or are those wants? What do I even need? Miracles? Something to keep people from cutting us like we're the losses? I don't know."

"Fukuchou, that was not my question." Saitou somehow knows just when to reply. "I'm asking if you need me for anything."

Hijikata finds himself looking into Saitou's eyes, one hand still in a fist, the other holding his writing brush. He'd ask anyone else if they were serious, if they had thought this over. If they were stupid or insane. If they were messing with him. Even now, those thoughts are likely crossing his face as he searches for words.

"I don't know," he finally admits. "I—"

A large piece of wood snaps off in the fire, which he's almost grateful for as now he can reach over to stir the ashes while thinking on a reply.

It's like he's trying to make tangible his thoughts, the odd, fluttery kind which are always out of place because they shouldn't belong in this world. There's no time, no chances, and this isn't just about him. He has to take into consideration so many things.

Would this be considered indulgence? Self-gratifying? To speak nothing of feelings, it could change everything or nothing on a practical level. In the ugliest of terms, it's relations with a subordinate. How does he tell Saitou this isn't, won't be, can't be—a casual fling? That it's not usage and then casting him aside? That he has no intention of treating him like…like a tool?

Sometimes, he speaks too plainly. Other times, he's terrible at words (and this is why his haiku is probably terrible) and he could bite his tongue.

But Saitou waits. Patiently. Offering. He hasn't moved and though there is a slight tension in his shoulders, the tension they all carried these days, he's not breathing rapidly or fidgeting.

Stability.

It's that word which echoes in Hijikata's mind when he swallows doubt and discomfort, laying the poker aside and reaching his hand out, first towards Saitou's face but then he grips a shoulder instead.

His chest feels tight.

"The moment it's not right," he starts to say. "If it ends up…wrong," he tries again.

It's Saitou who suddenly curls his hands on either side of Hijikata's face. Palms that match the heat in his face, that brace his chin and cheeks and hold him steady. He's fine if they stayed this way for a while.

"Hijikata-san."

He forgets how to think for maybe a second or two, but Saitou seems to apologise for the shock when he kisses him, tugging at the uneasiness that's been on his face for maybe ten minutes and replacing it with something else.

…or perhaps, it's not replacement. It's revealment. He forgets sometimes the people who knew him before the Shinsengumi, before the earned "Oni-fukuchou" title, before the responsibility and burdens. He wears this title well and it's become easy to do without thinking too much, but it drags him down. It shadows him.

When they separate in order to breathe, it feels like, for a short time, he can be himself. He watches Saitou unwind his scarf and fold it, hands unfaltering as if they hadn't just kissed.

Maybe he's the desperate one. Maybe he's gotten so bad at this façade when it comes to Saitou that there is a concern for his well-being that goes beyond duties. He doesn't get a feeling that he's worshipped or being obsessed over, but there's…there is something.

It's evident in how they kiss again, his hands fisting in fabric and the arm pressed against his side. The hair that isn't his own but clings to his face, and how warm his lips are. It's unmistakable in their fingers as they wrenched clothing and the tangle of legs and feet nearly cause them to hit his desk and there's a scrabble for an area on the floor that's not dangerous. And, it's there when his papers scatter and he half-heartedly shoves them back before his shoulders are pressed into tatami and wood and it'll probably leave marks, but he doesn't care.

Hijikata can't care, not when he can tangle his hands in Saitou's hair and leave his own marks on where skin is unblemished—on the tip of a shoulder, against the crease of muscles, the edge of a collarbone. Yes, he's done this before but under very different circumstances. With someone else, he wouldn't stop and take in scars, to carefully trace them with his tongue to hear a voice whisper his name. He wouldn't have tugged them down and asked again if this were still fine, if they were still fine.

His answer? It lies in the finger which swipes his lower lip and then curls in his mouth, and in the hand that caresses him from neck to legs and coaxes, even through clothing that's heavy and impeding, sounds of pleasure, muffled because his tongue is busy tangling against that finger because it speaks more than attempts for words.

He stops asking. The look in Saitou's eyes is anything but resisting. In fact, it seemed to perforate the questions that come to his mind and he succumbs, if not slowly. Their movements are anything but slow, as if to juxtapose whatever he's thinking about it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembers all the things he still has to do, the things that require him.

Except right now, he's taking time for himself. He listens to breathing that races and slackens, feels the pulse in the hand that he grips, and he can forget what is compulsory of him as the Vice Commander.

Saitou will remind him, when he needs to be that person again.

For now, he finds respite in how Saitou presses against his back and shoulder blades until he loses his balance and goes sliding but a hand drags him back and holds him. He shudders at the tongue that laps at his shoulder, and even after sprawling awkwardly, he finds their rhythm and the only regret is that he can't see anything from his position except the top of Saitou's head if he cranes his neck. And…maybe they should've fully removed their clothing. Except he can't be bothered, not when their inhales and exhales match and his fingers are locking with Saitou's and there is something perfect, something complete that he can't put into words but he knows he doesn't have to.

That perfection is there when Hijikata brings his head up his cheek bumps with Saitou's nose and when the hand on his wrist tightens impossibly and their hips bones will probably be bruised even as he hears his name gasped into his ear and he responds in kind.

They don't talk about it. Not when they lie there, clothes eschew and Hijikata's head in the crook of Saitou's shoulder, their hips still touching. For one, it's comfortable. And two—he hadn't been able to say much before, so what he possibly even think of right now?

In fact, he likes this. Saitou chooses his words carefully, with the right amount and the things that impact the most. He asks the right questions. Saitou is like the definition of right.

But even so, Hijikata contemplates. Did "right" allow for this? They've crossed a line. It's not even a kiss anymore. An ache not unlike the kind you get when you fall and hit something—it settles in his throat and chest.

He turns over and throws an arm over Saitou's shoulder in response, which his eyes closed. Saitou combs his bangs, and places his hand against Hijikata's neck. Like reassurance.

A need, fulfilled.

They're all right. They're not pushing each other way and sleep is keeping his eyes shut, dragging him under.

Hijikata just wonders if he'll ever be able to ask Saitou the same question.

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>Other notes:<strong>  
>There is no bottom or top in this relationship. It goes both ways. It's only for the summary that I have to choose one, but relationships are not set unless peoplecharacters define it themselves. The seme/uke trope is stupid and I hate it. And for Hijikata and Saitou, I think it goes both ways depending on the situation.

I'm probably also a little frustrated that Saitou tends to get turned into this submissive awkward thing when it comes to sex. But I think in this case, he's far clearer than Hijikata is about what he's offering. Not crystal clear, but this wasn't some "Hijikata, I've fallen for you please take me and make love to me" nonsense. Their relationship isn't like that.

...this will turn into an essay if I continue. I'll leave that there.


	6. VI

**Timeframe:** Shortly after the Battle of Toba-Fushimi and the Shinsengumi relocate to Edo, but before they go to Koufu Castle (aka before the outfit/hairstyle change).

**Extra warnings:** Blood nomming. And a lot of really messy feelings. Smut.

* * *

><p><strong>VI.<strong>

Prepare for the worst. Always prepare for the worst. Even the news that your leader is now a rasetsu. Saitou takes it stoically enough; it was necessary for the strength, for the resolve. If a time should come and he needs to take it, he will. Even now, he keeps the vial of ochimizu with him.

He just didn't really expect it like this. A flat sort of announcement, and the dismay on nearly everyone's faces, and then the sudden concealment of emotions before they all left to attend to various tasks. Or maybe they went drinking. And somewhere they'd pack up everything and then be put on a ship and have to return to Edo. Defeated. Shinpachi said one thing, Sano another, and Yamazaki is in no condition to speak, and neither is Chizuru.

The full story, he hears from Hijikata himself. In between bruising kisses and hair pulling and scratches, among other things, he pieces fragmented elements together, and he finally understands the words that Hijikata told him when he had asked before what had happened.

_'…__I…I never thought that I would sacrifice my own men so that I could survive…'_

Hijikata isn't the sort of person to leave things to others if he can do it himself. If he has a chance, he'll take those chances and make the best. Luck? Fortune? He's never placed his belief in that—it has always been his own strength that took him far. And maybe that's why he dug his fingernails into shoulders and arms and told Saitou, in ragged breaths, to never do that.

At the most, Saitou had pressed them into a corner of his room like it was some sort of solace, and he knows that Hijikata knows he can't follow such an order.

Some things you leave unsaid because saying them made them come true, or made it more painful. At least the walls are still standing; Hijikata punched the floor instead and then watched as his skin bled and knit itself together into yellow and blue and purple before it became normal, untarnished skin.

Saitou isn't a leader. He's a follower, and he likes his place. But for maybe an instant, when he sees shoulders that ought to be straight but instead are hunched, he wants to trade. Nothing compared the fear of losing people to make you question everything and everyone.

He can't be the leader of the Shinsengumi. That's Kondou. That's Hijikata. But when they finally lean against the wall and he ends up redoing Hijikata's hair for him, he says he can promise to do what he can.

If only that took away the pain of loss.

…at least the trip back to Edo was uneventful. Mostly. Yamazaki's death was hard and by the time they settled in Edo, all of them wanted to move on, to victories and chances for glory. For something other than watching people die one by one.

He keeps himself busy. He ignores rumours. He accepts the bad news that arrives more often than good. It's not until Chizuru finds him and voices her concerns about Hijikata when he realises that he doesn't know enough about rasetsu. A few questions for Sannan clears up some things, as well as Heisuke's reluctance to share much.

But there's also the matter of pride. From what Chizuru told him, it hadn't…went well. So when he finally speaks to Hijikata, he says nothing about the dark circles under tired eyes, nor the pale skin, and certainly not anything about blood.

Not yet.

"I'm surprised you haven't asked me."

"About what, fukuchou?" He passes a letter to Hijikata, voice neutral and even.

"About how I'm doing."

"Fukuchou is aware of how he is doing. Is it my place to point anything out?"

"Haven't you done that in the past?"

"I look to the circumstances…and what is necessary. If others have said something, then you are already aware and I do not have to say anything."

He gets the feeling Hijikata loses to this sort of argument, at the twitch in his eye and the way his shoulders hitch and he turns away with a great effort to conceal his annoyance. "And if I ask your opinion on this?"

"Are you asking me as Saitou Hajime, or as the Third Division Captain?"

"Both."

Saitou sits a little straighter. "Fukuchou, as one of your captains, I admire your tenacity and determination to carry out what must be done. It is inspiring and I would feel ashamed if I could not follow in your example." A pause. "As Saitou Hajime…I think you should rest whenever you can. Or is it that you cannot sleep even if you tried?"

"Some of the first, more of the second. But," Hijikata shrugs and smiles crookedly, "not much that I can do about that, is there?"

About responsibility, about pushing their position into a better place. About trying and disregarding the personal for that of higher and better purposes. He looks at the way Hijikata's fingers shake, slightly, and the words on the page are slow and unsteady when he writes.

"You're not disappointed in me, are you?"

"Never." The response is easy.

Hijikata looks up, about to say something, when his face turns grey and he suddenly clutches at his throat and chest.

It's instincts that Saitou is able to move quickly keep him from striking his head against the wall. But in the next instant Hijikata pushes him away as his eyes burn red and his hair becomes white.

By now, all of the captains are familiar with this sight that it's almost normal. However, this is Hijikata. To take this choice, it meant things were so terrible they couldn't simply depend on their own strength anymore. For Hijikata take it, for a man who prided himself on taking the most difficult path and shoving past doubts and prejudices—this is something hard indeed to accept.

"Fukuchou—"

"No." Hijikata huddles to the ground and grinds out the word between his clenched teeth. "Don't. I can't."

Some closed their eyes when they hurt, like an attempt to will it away. But Hijikata opens his, pupils dilated even as all his walls are torn asunder and ripped away from him while he curses under his breath. He faces his hurt, his uncertainty—everything—without looking away. But even so, it's not so much defiance in his face so much as it is bewilderment, at his lack of ability to control, the staggering weight of wanting something so badly that it tears at everything inside and narrows down to only that desire.

"L-leave, Saitou." He presses his forehead to the floor and his fingernails dig into clothing and skin as sounds of pain are wrenched out of him. "Just—leave. Now."

He almost does. Their pride dictates such.

Something tells him otherwise.

Saitou crouches down next to him and grips spasming shoulders. "Hijikata-san."

The use of his name makes Hijikata go quiet, though his gasps for air are still painfully loud and his body still shudders violently. "I…I don't want you to…to do that."

More sacrifice.

More bloodshed.

This wasn't simply about bloodlust. This is about watching the people under you, the people you trusted, die one by one because they believed in you so much that they valued you more than their own lives. It's the burden of a leader, of the one that calls the shots and does the dirtiest jobs, for the sake of raising all of them.

Is there a way to convey that he understands this and that he knows the choices and the hardships required? That this isn't just dutiful concern?

"Hijikata-san," he says again, letting go of one shoulder. "You said before that we don't fight one-on-one." He unsheathes his wakizashi. "Would this not fall into that category?"

Just because you're able to face something alone and survive it, just because that ability is there, it didn't mean you had to. Shieikan had showed him that. Hijikata showed him that.

Saitou slowly pulls away, and holds out his blade. "I'll be fine." He's sure of it.

It pierces his heart, the way Hijikata's eyes waver, how he grips the sword and looks as if he wants to plunge it into himself. Saitou cannot tell him if this is right or wrong—he can only offer what he can, and even so, it's up to his commander.

Another wave of agony seem to makes Hijikata decide. He yanks away Saitou's scarf, tugging down his clothing to reveal a shoulder, before sliding the blade against flesh and almost carelessly dropping the sword as he covers the cut with his mouth.

…it's oddly quiet, all of this. Saitou ends up with his hand on Hijikata's wrist, and he almost immediately feel a fluctuating pulse steady. Hijikata has his own hands on Saitou's arms, the ends of his bangs tickling skin with every lick and swallow. If anyone walked by them, it might look as if Hijikata's drunk and Saitou's attempting to help him.

Teeth graze his skin, and he swallows his own sound of pain. Of course, it's hardly anything that decent or innocent. This is drinking blood. This is something unnatural. This is something disgusting and if they're idealistic, they ought to all die as humans instead of rasetsu.

Ideals, however, must bow to reality. Why else did they kill Serizawa? Why else did they bear the hate of others and seek to cover themselves in blood? Because to protect ideals, you became the despised.

He feels somewhat light-headed, but it's nothing he can't handle. It can't match what Hijikata has been feeling for weeks. What's a little nausea in comparison to pain so terrible you think about killing yourself just to end it? His discomfort is nothing.

Saitou would, if it were possible, make Hijikata's pain his. 'Your pain is my pain,' he wants to say, but he can't bring himself to.

Hijikata finally pulls away, roughly scrubbing at his mouth. A streak of blood follows his hand, and his eyes don't meet Saitou's.

"I'm sorry." Almost inaudibly. The red eyes and white hair fade away, and if Saitou presses his hand over his shoulder, it hides the cut and everything is almost normal.

Almost.

"I told you that I'm fine." Dizziness and cold fingers are a small price to pay. He does wish he has a cloth, to better staunch the wound. It's not even all that large.

But Hijikata still doesn't look at him.

"Fukuchou…" Saitou leans forward, his shadow slipping over Hijikata's form. Out of habit, Hijikata looks up, and then Saitou takes his finger to properly clear away the stain of red. He pretends not to notice how Hijikata flinches and how the muscles of his neck are too rigid, like the way his hands are fisted and the knuckles are white.

"Saitou."

"Hai."

"What are you trying to accomplish with your actions?"

"…your well-being."

"Is that it?"

"Y—." He stops. "You should rest, fukuchou."

"Not until I get an answer."

"…I…I do not have an answer." It's his turn to drop his gaze. "At least, not a full answer."

"I'll hear the partial one."

Hijikata might as well have asked for Saitou to retrieve the moon for him. Nevertheless, he takes two breathes—one to calm himself, and the other so that his vision wouldn't swim. "You needed something, something which I was completely willing to give."

A dangerous tone has crept in. "Blood? I had medicine."

"I heard that you refused to take it…" his voice trails off. "Fukuchou, you didn't refuse when I…offered." That's as close to a question as he dares to venture.

"How can I, when all I could hear was my own damn heartbeat as well as yours? It's like I could see the blood right there. Couldn't see or smell or hear anything else." Hijikata slams the top of his desk. "Something was telling me I could've taken all of you, drained you of everything and left you like that. And what if I gave in? What if I used you?" His eyes are wild and his shoulders are shaking for a different reason "Are you _looking_ to sacrifice yourself?"

_I'm meant to be used by you._

"I knew you wouldn't." Saitou feels blood seeping through his fingers; he presses with more force. "Because you are my fukuchou."

_Because even if you could not stop, I wouldn't find it shameful that I helped you._

"_Fuck_." Hijikata pounds the floor this time; wood creaks under the force of his punch. "You're supposed to say 'you're right, fukuchou. This is wrong and there won't be a next time. Drinking blood is an abomination and we should've never done this.' Not this." He closes his eyes. "I shouldn't have let you become something like this. It's shameful."

Ah, yes. Shame. The feeling that blankets this room worse than the smell of blood. Guilt, too. "Fukuchou, I have no regrets."

"I do."

Strange how this hurts more than the sword cut. "You…do?"

"We shouldn't have done this. Done…that, in the first place." Hijikata gestures. "I messed up, didn't I?"

"If there is anything at fault, it would be me—"

"No, it's not you at all."

"But—"

"Do you think you can leave?"

Even through the odd pain clenching inside his chest, he forces himself to think clearly. "I cannot."

"What if I ordered to you."

"You could." The bleeding's finally stopped; when he lifts his fingers away, they stick to his skin. "I would listen. However, no matter how you say it, or what you say—" He bows his head. "Fukuchou, it does not change my concern."

There isn't another person he cares this much for. Not even himself. But he'd be lying if he said it didn't hurt when Hijikata said he regretted this. He can't grasp at everything he feels, but this isn't just duty or obeisance.

Hijikata presses his hand over his face. "Damn it, Saitou." Tiredness edges his voice. "Of all the people—"

He doesn't finish. Instead, he yanks Saitou by the arm and kisses him the instant they're close enough.

The taste of his own blood is salty. Mixed in with the essence of ink and sweat and the scent that unique to Hijikata, he forgets how to breathe for two seconds.

When Hijikata pulls away, the look in eyes says he wants to say so many things, but he doesn't know how form them. This, however, is more understandable. How he looks at the cut on Saitou's shoulder with so much guilt that Saitou puts his hand over it and tries to distract Hijikata by untying his hair and letting it spill over his shoulders. He does the same for Hijikata's hair, the strands soft between his fingers. How they map out each other with gazes that linger more than words do.

It's hard to tell who is more guilty, actually—Hijikata because he drank blood from Saitou, or Saitou because he feels guilty that he is cause of Hijikata's guilt. An outsider would probably hit them both over the head and call them stupid, stupid for caring, that they ought to break this all off and try to find another solution.

However, Saitou doesn't think he can find a replacement for the way Hijikata yanks his clothing away and follows up his movements with his mouth, running it over his skin. He can't replace the hand that cups his chin and guides him towards intensity and passion. And could he forget how his own touches can make Hijikata writhe against him and grip him like he is a lifeline? Or how a voice unused to being raised in pleasure could sound so broken, yet complete? And then there's the way they tilt their heads to avoid noses smothered when they kiss, or when one of them is being shoved against a wall, balancing on the toes, the frantic scrabbling for support, and the effort of stifling the loudest of sounds with hands or mouths…among other things.

They can't stop.

He can't stop.

Because when Hijikata, albeit without saying it outright, needs him, Saitou needs him as well.

He needs to be used. He wants to be needed, and he needs to be wanted. Need and want tread thin lines here, and he doesn't care about the details, but oh does he admit he needs this. He needs to hear himself break like this so he can be put back together. He doesn't care if it hurts, because it's good hurt. Even if his shoulder bleeds again and his pleasure is tinged with slight feelings of sickness, he'll take this.

Because Hijikata needs it. And there isn't a thing he wouldn't do. This wasn't forced, he wants it.

Then why is everything so heavy even after they pull themselves up and leapt together and after he has memorised, once again, how his name sounds in Hijikata's voice at the height of everything? Why does an ache linger even when he's not bleeding anymore and he's bandaging the cut and while Hijikata apologises again and they pull their clothing back in a demi-decent state and assemble the pieces of themselves that they have shared and now must return to "normal"—why?

His fingers fumble. He's cold…why is he shaking?

"Here." Hijikata hands him a cup of cooled tea. "You work on that."

Saitou is too fuzzy-headed to do little else beyond nodding and letting Hijikata fuss over him, wrong as it feels. The touch of warm fingers to his cooling skin, wrapping cloth gently, and then sliding down his arm—

Actually, it's a little too much.

His eyes burn. He blames blood loss as he fiercely rubs at them and counts his exhalations even as something akin to panic rises to his throat and sinks into his chest.

"Saitou?"

"O-one…moment." He gulps the rest of the tea down before his hand presses over his mouth as he fails to control his breathing until he narrows his eyes and focuses on the light in the room. Hijikata's hand hasn't left his arm, and he's acutely aware his shoulder is still bare. "I'm fine."

"Stop saying that." Hijikata adjusts his clothing for him, looks at the scarf, and decides to stop there. "I can tell you're not."

Something worse than panic sits in the pit of his stomach. "You can tell—?"

He winces at how that question came out.

"Saitou." Hijikata is meeting his eyes, even though his own eyes are a little haunted and neither of them can really hold gazes for long without it being painful. "I. Just…how about—" He lets out a frustrated sound and finally seems to give into something when he wraps an arm around Saitou and pulls him closer. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to say." Exhaustion, guilt, regret, pain—it's all there.

Not that Saitou knows what to say, either. The warmth is all around him. His head spins and once it stops, he can't process much beyond that he finds himself _relaxing_, and that _he_ _likes_ _this_.

Anything that he admits to liking is a weakness.

Or so he forces himself to think. He has once said that if you made decisions with feelings, it's the beginning of the end…the end to himself.

He's not supposed to think this way. He supposed to follow.

But he had.

He had felt.

Hijikata had felt.

Was this right or wrong? Or was this fulfilling another need? He'd move, but he can't summon his will. With his head on Hijikata's shoulder and a pair of arms bracing him, he's fighting emotions just as much as he's fighting his thoughts.

He's too tired. He's relieved. He's confused. He's happy? He's…sad?

Which one is it?

Saitou focuses on relief, which is the safest. Relief that Hijikata isn't hurting so much anymore, that they're not disagreeing, that the guilt is once again pushed out of mind.

But only just.

**.**


	7. VII

**Timeframe:** After Kondou loses his first battle, but before they head north to Nagareyama, and a little after Shinpachi and Sano leave. Inspired by how Saitou, when Chizuru runs into him, tell her to "bring some of her tea to fukuchou" and then leaves without an explanation. This part happens just a little before Hijikata has the whole conversation with Sannan and Chizuru telling him to please stop using the powers (for the curious, I chose that he refuses blood from her again…storywise, it made the most sense to me. Gamewise, you don't get all the CGs of Hijikata nomming on Chizuru. I checked.)

* * *

><p><strong>VII.<strong>

Some pain, you can share easily. Others can only be shown to those who understand it. And still others can only be exposed if it's the same experience or incident. Yet pain can also be a betrayal of feelings, for the emotions it pulls out in to the open and lays them out for inspection. Your pain, other's pain—sometimes it mocked you and you want to kill the source of pain.

Why does he have to deal with this on top of everything else? It hadn't started out this complicated. It started out…

Hijikata stares at the scroll on the far end of the wall, at the majestic brushstrokes that decorated it. Time has blurred nearly insensibly and he gets through things day by day, not week by week.

They're staggering on as opposed to marching on.

What does he tell Kondou, after this failed battle? How does he take the departures of Shinpachi and Harada, because it feels like his fault that they left? Can he apologise to Souji, who doesn't even want his apologies for being sent away? And…how does he face Saitou, after…certain events. It's not like Saitou's blood taste different from his; blood is blood, salty and slippery and congealing and the iron should've made him ill, but it hadn't.

It's the fact he gave in.

Chizuru offered, and so did Saitou. He said no to Chizuru and yes to Saitou. That's not fair, at all. But he had been able to shove Chizuru out of the room, despite her pleas. Saitou, though, wouldn't be coerced out.

Except no matter how he reasons it in his mind, it's still fucked up. He presses his hands to his temples and then drags them through his newly shorn hair. It wasn't just that. There were boundaries he crossed that night, more than other boundaries. The way Saitou's face had crumbled, for a few seconds, told it all.

That's what he regrets. He's…grateful. For everything Saitou has done, it is a gift and it's Hijikata Toshizou's fault that he can't fucking put his words together. He wants to kiss him and tell him he did good, but with every kiss, every look, they walked deeper into the intricacies of something called love.

Because it's really that.

He's not so stupid as to not see it. Deities help him, he's fallen under a kind of love that came from shared pain and experience and it's that very love that now causes them to doubt and fear. Some loves need proclamations and proposals, while simply other loves happened.

And so they happened.

He saw it too late.

His mind he can focus and still carry out what must be done, but any time he stops, anytime he takes his thoughts off work and duties, it drifts back to this. He thinks of Saitou and his careful hands, of how he seems to know the ways that Hijikata needs him in specific moments.

It's not just Saitou, either.

He thinks of another, too.

Chizuru, a little shyer and quieter, but she has firmly made her place among his life. It went beyond tea and food, the little gestures of kindness and sympathy that he's come to find as assuring as Saitou's loyalty.

If Saitou is stability, Chizuru is lucidity. He looks at her and remembers when she first arrived, and how things weren't as messy despite an assassination only half a year ago and the hushed matter of ochimizu and rasetsu. The simpler things in life. He catches himself think about how when he calls out to her, she always jumps, but every time she'll look back at him, always responds, eagerly—

Both of them are people he doesn't deserve. Hijikata unclenches his locked jaw, and forces himself to sit upright after hours of bending over his desk. Sometimes, he has a mind to leave all of them, and fight anew with soldiers and people he wasn't emotionally involved with. With Kondou's charisma and his own sense of leadership, they could do it. They could do it easily.

But he needs emotional support. He recognises it when he stares at the countless letters to answer and there's tea just when he needs a break, and a moment when he can smile and sometimes even laugh because he likes seeing Chizuru happy. He knows it when he's out fighting and men are dying and he hears someone calling out to him and Saitou is there to back him up.

There's also Kondou. Their dreams are a made a reality, but that dream has lost some of its beauty. The reality is this. They fight to live, not to win. They still uphold their banner, the sign of _makoto_, but insincerity and madness has pulled at those threads he and Kondou have fought for. Kondou seems distant, and Hijikata still remember how he took the news that Hijikata is rasetsu.

The inside of his mouth is bitter, and no amount of tea seems to wash it out.

His concentration, again, returns to Saitou. They hadn't had a chance to speak. But Saitou was there when they heard from Amagiri Kyuujyu the fact that being a rasetsu shortened your life, the more you used the power. Every time you borrowed the strength to fight or heal, it drained you a little bit more.

He's not afraid to die.

He's just afraid it'll run out before he accomplishes what he has to do, what need to be done. For Kondou. For the Shinsengumi. For himself. He didn't come this far just to be fucked over by life choices. He didn't come this far to be outdone by that bastard of an oni.

His room feels stifling and he imagines burning some of damn letters. What good were they even doing? But prudence wins; he gets up and thinks maybe fresh air would be good.

Hijikata doesn't go very far; he stands on a veranda and stares up at stars under a cloudless and moonless sky. This is the least favourite sort of night.

"Fukuchou."

He snaps out of his thoughts. "Saitou."

"I spoke to the officials."

"And?"

"They're willing to meet with you tomorrow."

"At least that's gone right," he mutters, turning to finally look at his subordinate. He's still not used to Saitou's hair. The clothes, however, oddly fit because they're the same shade of black Saitou wears. He still wants to ask about the scarf, but it seems trivial.

By now, he knows he's a mess. Tiredness is a constant companion, as well as minor headaches and stiff necks and inkstains on his hand. Whatever Saitou's seen of him, it couldn't be worse than the time he gave into bloodlust.

"I'll have the letter finished soon," he adds, "and you can send for someone to deliver it in a few hours."

"Understood."

"…I'm a little worried about Kondou-san."

"Kyokuchou still despondent?"

"He keeps rereading those books. Asks some questions here and there, but he's left most of the work to me."

"Is…you are fully capable of doing these duties."

"Not really a question of my capability, but just how long it'll last. And how long we'll last"

Silence. Heavy silence.

"…have you given thought to what Amagiri said?" Saitou breaks it this time. "About…"

"The rasetsu lifespan? Yes. Funny how Koudou didn't make any mentions of that. Or maybe he didn't know. Where the fuck did he even get it from?"

"He was a doctor specialising in Western medicine, so his connections…they must have had a long reach."

"And to think he never told his own daughter a thing. The water of life—more like water of death."

"Yukimura handles it well."

"She does."

_Better than how we're handling this._

They stand at the ends of the veranda, a distance neither of them crosses. Conversations don't last very long anymore, and Hijikata is racking his mind for the right things to say, because damn it—he needs to say something. He wants to go back to enjoying Saitou's company, revelling in the fact there was always someone there…but at the same time, he knows they can't.

"Please excuse me."

"Wait." Hijikata decides it's now or never. "Could we go inside?"

"If you want me to."

_I want you to decide things for yourself, not for me. _

The distance when they sit is a little closer, but not by much. Saitou is in _seiza_ form, and Hijikata, as much as he wants to cross his legs, does the same.

"Saitou, about last week," he begins, "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Saitou's gaze is closed, so closed that Hijikata will have to dig in order to see. "I did what was necessary because I was concerned."

"No, I mean I'm sorry for what happened afterwards. I used you. Yes, I did." He holds up a hand when Saitou starts to speak. "Even if you offered, you didn't deserve…what I did."

It wasn't just about consent. It was about feelings and he should've made them clear in the first place. Saitou had offered, and he only thought briefly before they had jumped into this. How stupid and foolish. It didn't even matter how good they felt or if it were satisfying—they put the physical before the emotional. It worked for fights and duties, but…but not love.

Hijikata closes his eyes and then opens them. "Saitou, I appreciate it. All of it. Don't doubt that. But…" he feels his mouth twist into a bitter smile. "You know I'm bad with words, and I…I hurt you."

No denial comes from Saitou, who is looking very hard at the edge of Hijikata's shirt collar.

He pushes on. "I don't think you need me as much I need you. Especially now with my being a rasetsu. I still should have said no. It's not so bad, waiting it out."

That's a lie, and poor one. He shudders when he remembers the first time, the awful waves of pain that shut everything out, with the burning sensation this throat that couldn't be quenched by water. The voice inside his head screaming for blood, to kill, to take what he needed. He can't ever forget the side of Saitou holding his shoulder, swaying, his face as white as sheet of paper even he says he's fine.

"I want to make one thing clear—I won't drink your blood again."

Saitou starts, gaze trained on Hijikata. "Fukuchou—"

"No. I won't do it. Heisuke's getting by with medicine and I can do that too. Second—" he choses his words carefully. "I think we should stop this, for a while. Not because I dislike it or that I have problems with you. Saitou, this is my fault, and I think to fix it, we can't…continue like this."

Already, he sees the effect of his words—Saitou's eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he closes himself off and his hands tighten on his knees. "Hijikata-san," he says, too quietly. "You're having regrets?"

"I don't have regrets about the time I accepted your offer to fill my need. I just regret hurting you. I—" He swallows. "You. Me. We need space. When we're in a better place, we can continue."

This is all excuses. All of them. A part of him hates himself for this, for disbelieving what's there. "I told you before, I'm more fond of you than I really should be. But my own insufficiency gets in the way of everything." He laughs and shakes his head, eyes stinging with something he wants to acknowledge. "I'm sorry. You can hate me for this if you want."

He's weak.

He's afraid.

Some people could deal with love, but he can't. He doesn't doubt his abilities as a person, but with someone else he cares about, he doesn't have the strength to look out for him. Saitou is so close, so dear—but he could die the next day. Hijikata could die the next day.

Closeness would kill them.

"Hijikata-san." Saitou's voice cracks, and an apology is on the tip of his tongue when the other seizes him and his chin crashes into the crook of a shoulder.

He inhales the scent of steel and oil. Some soap—the same kind Chizuru uses—and something that reminds him of snow even though it's not winter anymore. He clutches back, probably cutting off half their air supply.

They could kiss.

They could forget everything he said and instead just focus on what which was pleasure and desire and simply nothing else. But it'd be a sham if they did. If they slept together again, he wouldn't be able to look at Saitou, and it would only crack and shatter them all the more.

Yet if this is the right thing, then why did everything hurt? It hurts more than the bloodlust pain. That was physical and it'd pass. This pain is as bad as losing Gen-san and Yamazaki. Like they'd cut something off even though there are promises to return.

He shuts his eyes and tastes salt, and the shudders through Saitou's frame make it worse. He grips tighter.

But he can't take it back.

They can't go back.

The most he can do is sweep back Saitou's hair and press his lips to his forehead when what he really wants to do is cover his mouth with his and lose himself to bliss. He can feel it in the way Saitou clutches his hand to his face after he tries to pull away, and in the kiss the other gives to the back of his hand that burns and cuts lines into his heart.

It's all too soon when Saitou pulls away from him. "Please excuse me, fukuchou." His voice is once again unwavering.

Hijikata makes a sound of acknowledgement, not trusting his own voice. He looks somewhere at his hands, the sounds of Saitou getting up and moving towards the door like background noise.

"It's all right, you know, if you think the worst of me." The words spill out, like a final apology. "I'm not a good person. None of us are. But I think you're a better than I'll ever be."

_If you hated me, this would hurt less._

"Fukuchou."

He looks up.

Their eyes meet.

"One bad turn hardly determines the sort of man you are. Our first time, you said the instant it felt wrong, we would stop." Even so, Saitou has to swallow and blink before he continues. "This does not change my loyalties, or my duties. You are still my fukuchou regardless of what has transpired." He bows his head and leaves. "Once again, please excuse me."

It takes a long time before he can go back to his letter. He sits with his head in hands, shoulders shaking with various emotions until he finally focuses again.

This is for the better. It has to be. Saitou's last words didn't hurt, meaning they're getting somewhere. He just…wishes it hadn't been this hard. He wishes they were different people, in a different time.

But can he honestly say he wishes they had remained friends, and nothing more?

No.

That would be a betrayal of everything up to now, like taking some you've worked on for so long and tearing it apart. He's not denying this happened, or regretting it.

_I only regret I didn't think it all the way through._

Ink splatters as he gives up all pretence of concentration and gets up in search of drinks.

He has to clear his mind of the way Saitou's face had looked that night, after he drank his blood. It frightens him sometimes, how much people placed their lives in his hand.

It scares him how he could've easily ruined all of them.

**.**


	8. VIII

**Timeframe:** Post Hijikata-Saitou fight (so brief and lol I think it technically goes against their Code, but Saitou got around it by saying how it's for Hijikata's own good). Since the route mentions nothing about what Saitou's been up to, I assumed that he took the ochimizu when he left with the main group of the Shinsengumi along with the Rasetsu Corps and they started fighting heavy battles. The beginning of this part is quote directly from Chapter 8 of the main game.

**Warnings:** Massive TL;DR on Saitou's part. Hijikata being Hijikata.

**Rating:** R

* * *

><p><strong>VIII.<strong>

_"__I understand why is it that you wish to fight. That is why I cannot allow you to. Perhaps you would forget your pain in the midst of battle…but I can't afford to let you do that, Hijikata-san. You cannot be permitted to turn a blind eye to our problems."_

_"__Because…I am kyokuchou now?"_

_"__Because you're the one who can unify the Shinsengumi."_

Saitou runs a careful eye down the blade of his sword as the words echo again in his mind. Time has a way of tempering people and changing beliefs. For him, it's more of the former. His beliefs are still the same, and he follows the path of what he believes makes him the truest to being a samurai. The Shinsengumi retains this, and Hijikata has not let him down.

Personal lives, however—that's a different matter. They parted, emotionally and physically, though he keeps up his reports and letters. It's important to know what's going on. Even if it's difficult. Kondou surrendering, Hijikata sending him demands for help (which Saitou answers, because the Shinsengumi without their Commander is a hard thing), losing Utsunomiya Castle, hearing about Hijikata's injuries…

He thinks about the bloodlust. Then he remembers Chizuru is with him, and by now he knows her well enough that she'd do exactly what he did. Whether or not Hijikata took it is different story, however.

Himself, he finally drank the ochimizu when men were falling about him and while he hadn't received any injuries, his instincts don't lie. The ochimizu tasted like gunpowder, bitterness, and vengeance. His heart might've stopped and started again, and there's an urge to be sick which passes, and then his senses are heightened. He manages to stagger out of that battle, bloody and white-haired until Heisuke finds him. The next few weeks are uneventful save for the fights that came one after another.

His hands slow, slightly, when he recalled the first time he fall and pain filled him. When the bloodlust hit, he vaguely remembered Hijikata and he can better understand the choices. Blood, the thing that kept you alive and others alive, becoming a demand that your body screamed for. The sheer helplessness that pulsed through your head as you tore at your own skin. And then it passes, leaving you weak, dizzy, and still in pain like you were defeated.

To keep sanity…he supposes he ought to be grateful that his soundness of mind is usually strong. But it's almost frightening when he understands how easy it would be to give in. When he breathes in the scent of blood, it sends a rush through him not unlike the kind he got when Hijikata first kissed him. Heady and deep. Longing. Gently curling around his body and hinting of respite.

He had shut it down. The sun is agonising and though Sannan and Heisuke tell him to quit it, he refuses. He'll take the nights of discomfort, the shaking, the agony. He'll put up with it. He's capable of enduring.

Small wonder when he caught his own reflection and winced at circles under his eyes and rather sickly-shaded skin, the hollows of his cheeks, and how his uniform felt looser. Admittedly, when he finally met up once again with Hijikata, he knew he was not at his best.

Once he's finishes caring for his swords, Saitou puts everything away. There isn't anything else to be done for night, meaning he's free to wander, maybe thing a little more. His thoughts once again turn to…that conversation he and Hijikata had before they parted for some months. It had hurt. He admits, he hadn't realised it would hurt that much. Honestly, it had been feelings. Feelings that got in the way. Intentions to serve, to help, and somewhere in between he'd crossed a line within himself.

He loves Hijikata.

But before anyone can judge him, it wasn't some instant revelation. No, it was first a love borne from respect and admiration, with a touch of…adoration, he had to confess. He took the jobs, the duties, the killings. Not in some servile way; there are times he has objected to Hijikata's opinions, but they'd respected each other. It was all right.

And then that sort of love gave way to a deeper urge for Hijikata's well-being. Being the vice commander meant hardening yourself, being grim-faced and steel-eyed, cold—a demon. Strict. Harsh. Ugly. But such took a toll, an exhausting one, and Saitou had wanted to take some of that away. He first loved the Hijikata that looked at him without judging eyes, and respected his swordskills. And he still loves that Hijikata. Wanted to keep it. That's why he first offered, after Hijikata had kissed him and he realises they might have a chance to remain themselves even after war and deaths wearied them.

Maybe if Hijikata hadn't become rasetsu, things could've stayed that way. They could've simply loved to that degree. He could've given himself, over and over, and in return he could watch his vice commander hold on to his past, comfortably.

Saitou breathes out softly, more of an echo of his thoughts than it is a sigh.

Bloodlust brings out the worst in people. He had told himself he could do this. He could be a support. But that night, when Hijikata drank his blood, he had gone to sleep feeling sick and wrong and…used. No matter how he argued with himself, told himself it was for Hijikata's sake, he knew. He couldn't deny how he had felt.

His strength had limits. The sleepless nights that followed, he had cursed feelings and love over and over and tried to reason and climb the mountain of doubt that was created when his shoulder was cut and he was used.

He offered.

So why was it that both of them felt guilt, keen and cutting their ties? Why the pain? He has tried to understand why. He has gone through so many scenarios in his head, the what ifs and the maybes. He has hated himself, hated the situation, hated that first kiss, hated the ochimizu.

Blame only lasts so far before you find the truth.

It's love's fault. The fact it had been in him, before he recognised it. Love mixed with loyalty is perhaps the most dangerous sort, the kind that made you disregard yourself and leap into something before you thought it through—even though you did think, but you were thinking all the wrong thoughts.

They did it wrong.

He's had to come to terms with that. The circumstances, the matched pain, the experiences; it drew them together and they reached for it, a little too eagerly. And untimely love will hit you hard in the head and heart and leave no breathing room. Deities help him, the revelation was slower than the love and he lost himself to battle while trying to forget it. But when he pined for blood, his mind is oddly articulate and he figured it out even as his knees gave out and he lost consciousness.

He knows he will always love Hijikata.

That's for sure.

There is sadness, yes. When he finally sees Hijikata again, there is still fondness that ached. But the sadness no longer stabbed. It no longer accused, torturing his mind.

Yes, he loved. No, they probably can't make this last.

"…Saitou?"

The voice pries him away from his thoughts. Reflexes keep him from treading on Hijikata's feet when they both round a corner.

But even if it didn't last, there is still now.

"Kyokuchou." This new title, he still has to get used to. But he says it with pride, for all that Hijikata has done. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"

"Can't. Too much on my mind." Saitou moves back, and Hijikata steps into the moonlight. He doesn't have his jacket on; his shoulders look oddly thin in a shirt. Much like how he looks. "You?"

"The same. But…Yukimura—"

Hijikata winces. "I might've waited until she went to sleep."

Saitou allows his disapproval to spread across his face until Hijikata coughs and looks away.

"Don't say it."

"I have not said anything."

"Hn." But a smile tips the side of mouth. "Chizuru's the one who says things; you just give me that look of yours. Between the two of you, I think I'll be able to stick around a while longer."

"That is good."

The lines in Hijikata's face seem a little less, especially with the way he looks at the moon.

"Saitou."

"Yes?"

"You look terrible. Has anyone told you that lately?"

"Possibly." He shifts, uncomfortably, and also looks at the moon instead of at Hijikata. "But you hardly look better."

"I'm getting better. Chizuru makes sure of that."

"I'm relieved to hear that she is."

"Anyone telling you to sleep? Eat?"

"…" How did this conversation turn out like this again? "I am well enough to carry out my duties."

"That's not the point."

Saitou has to force himself to not fiddle with his gloves. "Is there…anything I can say or do so that you aren't worried about me?"

Even though he still has misgivings when people showed concern—really, he can look after himself—he's given up convincing some people.

"Not really." There is a wryness in Hijikata's voice that makes him look back.

Their gazes hold.

He swallows. "I'm…tired sometimes," he admits. "But are we not all? Kyokuchou, however…has the heaviest of burdens to bear."

"I'm used to it. But," Hijikata crosses his arms, "don't call me that. At least not right now."

It's not just the duties he has to get used to.

"Understood…Hijikata-san."

"You said something about being tired? Does it have anything to do with being a rasetsu?"

"Some." He can feel his own reluctance in that word. "Daylight can be difficult."

"You could've done what Sannan-san and Heisuke do. Joined the Rasetsu Corps."

He shakes his head. "My place wasn't there."

"We do things the hard way, don't we."

"The Shinsengumi has always undertaken the more difficult route." He emphasises that. Them, those that left, those that passed on—who said loyalty and sincerity were easy? But it was never one man. It was the strength of many that looked to one.

"I'm talking about the choices we made. I didn't think you'd have to."

"Didn't think?"

"You have something I don't have."

"…"

"Your strength is something I've relied on. Many times. If you took the ochimizu, then I underestimated just how bad things would get." Hijikata's eyes are fixed on him. "Sorry about that."

"There is nothing to apologise for. I made my choices like you made yours. If I can serve a little longer, then it is all right."

"Is it?"

He hesitates.

"Never mind, don't answer that."

"…thank you."

When Hijikata tries to tuck his arms into his sleeves, and remembers he can't and laughs at his habits, Saitou realises it's gotten more than a little chilly. "We should go inside."

"Mm. We should." He doesn't move.

"…my room is closer."

Hijikata opens his mouth, and then shuts it. "That an invitation?" he finally asks.

He's sure his ears are some shade of red. Strange how embarrassment works. Some things don't faze him, but other things do. Will he ever figure himself out? Or Hijikata? "If you wish for it to be."

"Well, I've missed your company. Too bad we don't have sake."

"I think I have some tea leftover."

"Is it—"

"Yes, she made it."

"That's fine. It's like…old times."

Maybe he doesn't need to figure every single thing out. Just the most important ones. Like the fact he hasn't walked next to Hijikata for so long, but it's easy to match their footsteps until they reach his room. He relights the lamp, and adds wood to the fire.

Hijikata sits down with a sigh and a grunt, carefully easy himself down.

"Do your injuries bother you?"

"It's like the equivalent of silver bullets. Kazama thought I was special enough for his precious heirloom sword."

He doesn't usually find things like that amusing, but that's a terrible sentence, one with enough implications that he has to turn his head as he attempts to cough because he can't image Kazama doing that.

"…Saitou, you…laughed."

"You must've misheard." He pours a cup of tea.

"No, that was a laugh."

Very determinedly, he hands the tea over to his commander and pours himself another cup. His hair isn't long anymore and his face is less obscured, making his expression easier to read.

"You're smiling, too. Don't remember much of that."

"I'm sure I have smiled before…"

"If I tried to count, it would not equal more than five."

"Perhaps."

Somewhere, somehow they have come to this point. Weariness until the smallest hint of humour made them smile, and their future hinting of uglier things and the fact they don't have long to live—they shouldn't be here. They should be training, doing things to win. But as Hijikata attempts to remember the number of times Saitou has grinned, Saitou cannot think of those important things right now.

There's actually colour to Hijikata's face and it matches the warmth he feels in this room. The tea is cold, they're bone-weary, and they're grieving and adjusting. Hijikata's laughter is just a tiny bit loud, but it's real laughter. It's something familiar. If he tries hard enough, he can imagine Souji, Harada, Shinpachi, Heisuke, Sannan, and Kondou all in the same room.

He doesn't think much when he sets down his cup as their banter peaks and Hijikata asks to see his hands.

"Why?"

"Because I want to confirm something."

He pulls his gloves off and holds his hands out, fingers slightly curled. The other man takes them, thumbs running over knuckles.

"Good. They're not cold."

Saitou remembers then, that first night. "Neither are yours," he responds.

Hijikata's hands still. "I bet I could sit here all night apologise for a lot of the shitty things I made you do. But you don't want to hear that, do you? You've never complained. You supported me. And I thought I appreciated that. But not enough."

"Hijikata-san—"

"At least, not unselfishly. When you revealed that you were a rasetsu, I thought it was something I did. Yes, you might've had the choice, but we shouldn't have obeyed that order from the Bakufu in the first place. We should've stayed human."

Maybe.

"But we're here. Making the best of it. Me, getting stabbed and letting Kondou-san die. You, becoming like this." The earlier amusement is gone, replaced by a bitter smile. "I wish I had half your ability to adapt. Even after Shinpachi and Harada left, you could've done the same. Souji didn't have a choice, but you did. If you wanted to leave then, I would've left you. Jump the sinking boat."

"No, I…"

Two of Hijikata's fingers are suddenly tracing his jawline, and he can't seem break away from the eyes that holding his. "Saitou. You reminded me that there are still people who've placed their trust in me, people waiting for me to lead them. I don't think I deserve that trust, but you've given it to me, and I have to take that. You probably should've hit me harder."

Well, it's not like he wanted to hurt Hijikata that much. Just enough to show him that going out to the front lines would've mean certain death.

"…those months, you never changed."

"I have said before—nothing changes my opinion of you, Kyokuchou."

"Don't—"

"No." He brings his hand up and closes it over Hijikata's wrist. "That is the only thing which has changed—your title. I admired you the day you told me it didn't matter that I was left-handed…and even today, you are still the same man with the same standards. Hijikata-san, whether you are born into a lower status, or part of the Roshigumi, or fukuchou or kyokuchou—You…you were the warrior I promised to follow."

Saitou takes a breath and continues. "But, kyokuchou—you seem to forget we care about you. Rushing into battle, taking this own your own…we takes risks, but at what cost? Who will lead if you are gone? Maybe there is a time we will not be needed, but not yet." Not now. "You should consider how I feel, too."

He still can't say everything in his heart. But for now, it's enough. Maybe a little too much. It's a good time to feel overwhelmed, isn't it?

"Damn." Hijikata snorts and blinks rapidly, shoulders shaking with a chuckle. "When you talk, you really talk and I can't win, can I." His thumb presses over one side of Saitou's lips, back and forth. "Kondou-san said you were worth a thousand men, but I think it's more. You're worth the whole Shinsengumi."

His throat works, but no words come.

"You'll let me say thank you, right? Unless you want to tell me how you feel?"

"There…there isn't any need for that." He shakes his head, but Hijikata still holds him.

"Leaders are supposed care of the people under them." They're so close that when they breathe, their bangs brush. "So…let me take care of you. Please."

_I already know how you feel, and that's what gets to me,_ his eyes say. _This is why I want to thank you._

These are words he didn't think he'd ever hear Hijikata say. Words that break him from his usual anchorhold, leaving him floundering until he's caught by how intensely he's looked at, lost again, and immediately found. Words that caressed him like the way their lips met, and he can once again savour a taste he has forgotten, but it all returns immediately. The graze of teeth on his tongue, and then the forceful little nudge he returns as their arms bump and then seek out each other's frames. Words that echo in his mind, and threaten to entirely undo something and reveal what he's not quite ready to say.

"Thank you" has become a metaphor for love, it seems.

He should say it. But his voice is tangled, caught with Hijikata's, and he can't speak. So instead he pries the annoying little buttons apart and gets stuck in his jacket, and ends up needing help getting it off.

"What happened to those reflexes of yours?"

He shrugs, helplessly.

Hijikata's not really looking for answer, not by how he focuses he is on sliding the palms of his hands up Saitou's sides because he knows Saitou will inhale sharply and inch closer. There's a frown when he looks down; probably because Saitou is visibly thinner, more tense, and pale. In the past there might've been nail scraping him over, but not tonight. There's just the right amount of lingering touch that leaves him both pacified and aching for more.

He tries to return. The bandages give him pause; he draws his fingers lightly over the one on Hijikata's neck, and then his shoulder, and down his abdomen and chest. So they can't be quite as fast as they'd went in the past, which is fine. He works his tongue over a collarbone and mouths the skin stretched over firm muscles until Hijikata grabs his head.

"I said I would take care of you."

"But—"

"Not tonight."

He might've forgotten how to breathe as Hijikata's voice touches him exactly his hands do. His back hits the floor and there's stars and colours until the sound of more clothing being removed draws him back to reality. Or maybe an unbelievable reality. Fingers that tickled on moment and soothed the next, a mouth that licked trails of heat but left him shuddering, sweeping lower and lower…

Saitou's hands are twined in Hijikata's hair, probably tugging too hard and yanking out some strands. But he can't help it. He can't help rolling his hips despite the fingers digging into skin and bone, one on his hip and the other on his knee. He can't help moaning some mangled version of Hijikata's name—still with the "san"; just because he's mildly inarticulate doesn't mean he can forget something like that, although it's probably wrong in this sense but he has to keep it, or else he'd cross even more boundaries they already have—can't withhold his all-too-fast pulse and the need for air and how he being pulled toward an edge. He hadn't thought it would be like this, this sense of rapidly rushing into something he anticipates, something he really, really needs. Something that hints of explosions and screams, with all his control being completely relinquished.

But it's too fast. Saitou doesn't even know how he does it, but he gasps out something asks for a pause, fingers flailing a little as he reaches to pull Hijikata up, yet he can't even do that—

Hijikata seems to understand though. He pushes back his tangled hair, strokes Saitou's hair, and shifts up. There's a few flashes of pain on his face, and Saitou straightens.

"Perhaps you should be the one to…"

"Lie down? Probably."

His face is so flushed he doesn't think it could be anymore red, but then Hijikata points out his ears and he presses his mouth over Hijikata's so he can draw the laughter out of him, until they're winded and the other's man's eyes are a little unfocused and his arms are shaking.

Good. He's not the only one feeling like they're being unravelled.

Injuries or not, Hijikata drags Saitou on top of him, hands still unhurried and slow even as certain parts of their bodies are definitely not slowing at all. Fingers that knead him until his toes cramp and he's curling forward and trying to best to not put weight on Hijikata, until even his long-suffering patience is worn thin and he digs his hands so hard into the tatami he's probably breaking his nails. There might've been the beginnings of a sob when everything shifts and he lets a long, drawn sigh as they finally move together.

It's humbling when Hijikata curls his hands against Saitou's neck, so that their noses nearly touch. He's being held, being kept, being loved.

It doesn't hurt.

To be fair, their first time hadn't brought pain either. But that had been hurried, desperate, with a need to forget to maybe cover wounds hurriedly. The other times had been roughness also covering pain, or spoke of a fire that burned too hotly and scarred the both of them.

Not this time.

It wasn't need anymore. It wasn't either of them trying to be a salve that heals. It wasn't more attempts, more endeavours, more ignorance.

It's together. It's definitely love. Imperfect, messy, and took forever in its emergence, but it's there. It's what makes him press his hands to sharp hipbones and trace the lines. And he knows it's what makes Hijikata say his name so gently it strikes a chord within, and it's what makes them wind their fingers together as a wave breaks and washes over them, unevenly but leaves them both weak and panting in its wake even as they kiss again, because it muffles the loudest of sounds. The back of head stings; Hijikata hasn't spared his hair either, but it's probably in regards to how he'd accidentally yanked too hard only minutes before.

Saitou manages to not fall on Hijikata as he pulls away and rolls next to him, chest heaving. His hair sticks to his face, his shirt is still half on him and impossibly wrinkled, and his commander hardly looks better.

But when had appearances ever mattered? Beauty is in the way Hijikata writes, how his voice resounds when he gives commands, and how they move together whether in battle or like this.

Hijikata's head bumps into his shoulder. "Are you still with me?"

Oh, he'd closed his eyes. He opens them now, and finally inhales normally. "Yes."

"Good."

More minutes pass by, until Hijikata speaks again. "A part of me wants this to last. If we didn't have to fight…"

"I know."

They both know some dreams have no place. Not unless they walked away from all of this, and both of them are too dedicated. More likely than not, their fate is to die in battle.

Hijikata looks as if he wants to say more, but as he turns on his side and winces, Saitou knows his injuries have caught up to him. "You should go—"

"Not going anywhere tonight."

"But—"

"I'll think of something in the morning." A yawn. "Or you can do that, you're good at that, Saitou."

He'd protest, but Hijikata is out like a light before he finds a good comeback, one arm draped over Saitou's side and their knees folded together. He can't even be annoyed, not when he watches his commander sleep, with no lines between his eyebrows and his shoulders relaxed.

Subordinates are far more used to taking care of their leaders, after all. It's hard to say who actually took care of whom tonight.

Saitou slides his hand through Hijikata's hair, pushing it behind his hair so it wouldn't cling and catch, sleep prodding him along as well. Before he gives into it, he thinks, they can afford to stay like this as long as they can. Until the next obstacle in life pushes them to consider things.

You don't think about eternity, not when some of the sand in the glass has been removed and you're not sure just how much is left. You took your chances now, and lived for now.

And so their love is right now, in this moment when he can close his eyes and keep his chin tucked above Hijikata's head, and press his finger to the pulse underneath an ear and count it till he, too, sleeps.

Now.

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>Last Notes: <strong>This part was probably one of the hardest to write. Saitou isn't Chizuru, and his and Hijikata's relationship are different. However, it doesn't change how Hijikata always feels like he has to remove himself from people who care about him, for their own good. Honestly, the reason I wrote this fic was to try to…have him figuring out his relationships with Saitou, and along the way he figure it out with Chizuru, making some of the same mistakes, but even so, learning from them. In chapter 9 of the game, when Chizuru has those orders from Otori and Hijikata rejects them, you can either choose to not take the letter or take it. If you choose to take it, Chizuru rips up the orders because she's not forcing Hijikata to accept them. She does, however, yell at him that he always does this without thinking about the other person (and you earn romance points this way). She doesn't care if it's his job to bear burdens, she doesn't want him to do it alone. In lieu of this fic, Saitou didn't want him to do it alone either.


	9. IX

**Timeframe:** During the month Hijikata's recovering from Kazama stabbing him and before Saitou parts ways and remains with Aizu and Hijikata goes to Sendai.

**Rating:** R

* * *

><p><strong>IX.<strong>

Two weeks, five days…and three hours.

Shadows dance over the walls, weak and clutching to the frames because dawn is close; it's been an all-nighter—or as long as he could work once Chizuru has slept. He recovers all too slowly for his liking. It's not that he doesn't like sitting because he can still work, but it's different. Men were out there, fighting, in the name of the Shinsengumi. He's not out there with them. Watching them. Fighting with them.

Currently, Hijikata has two problems. They kept him from picking up his weapons and striding out. They made him rethink a few things, even altogether give up.

_Technically,_ they're not problems. It's just that Chizuru has gotten used to ordering him around and he finds himself giving in a little too easily. ("Hijikata-san, you have to eat something." "Mm." "I am talking about right now, Hijikata-san." "…fine.") And then there's Saitou, who says even less but still gets his point across. ("Kyokuchou." "What is it?" "It's very late." "…" "…" "I suppose I can rest a little.")

He appreciates what they do. Honestly, he might already be dead if not for them. But can he help being restless? Leaders are awful with inactivity, always. From time to time, he surveys his injuries and prods them. They're no longer looking raw, but there's still inflammation and bruising. On worse days, they still hurt and he feels feverish. Slow progress. He's not a patient man. But he'd be lying if he didn't admit he is used to the times Chizuru enters in his room with tea or food. He can base his schedule over how consistent she is. They don't talk much, but he when he discovered that she actually listens to what he's saying, and takes interest (he'd mention an issue, she'd nod and then when they met again in a few hours, she would ask him if he resolved it yet), he makes a point of conversation. You can't really deny someone, the way their eyes light up when you look at them, the affection that came with time.

She's probably in love with him.

Or, she has feelings in that area. What sane woman would stay this long when he's said, so many times, she could leave? She might've never been officially part of the Shinsengumi, but she is part of it, just like any other man under his command. He recalls, a long time ago, she had been his page. Oddly how during those days she hadn't been able to do much, but now she really did that sort of a work a page would do.

He's not sure when he came to depend on her. Was it when she had knelt down and begged him to let her have more duties? Was it the time they had to leave Kondou behind, and she had offered a few words and cleared his head enough for them to move on? Was it how she had dragged him out of that fight with Kazama?

She ought to be somewhere else, away from this sort of grief. Deities know how much grief follows him around because he's a warrior, and warriors, while they have tales following them, bring bloodshed and sadness everywhere. Penning a letter to Kondou's wife was hard; he has had to write so many others.

Would there be anyone left to write one for him, should he perish?

Hijikata blinks and frowns. Why is thinking about his death? His time hasn't come. Not yet. He and Chizuru and Saitou have fought so hard to stay alive; there are still things that he has to do.

So as long as it didn't turn into a façade, using life as an excuse to kill. Bloodlust is still a large problem. On the very worst days, his mind shreds itself and he thinks only of the taste of blood and how nice it would be to spill it. He's never snapped someone's neck, but he can hear the sound, the expulsion of air from an expired body—it still disturbs that, if he wants to, he can drain a whole body of blood.

He's still incredibly disappointed with himself over that first time, with Saitou. The memory of him sitting there, pale as death but insisting he's fine. Chizuru, he can believe because she's not human, but back then, Saitou, for all his strength, had the same amount of blood as any other human. Blood that took time to be replaced. It's why he took forever to allow Chizuru to convince him, and when he finally did take her blood, he couldn't even look her in the eye. He still doesn't.

Some things, you might have to regret until you took it to the grave.

The shadows are more or less gone from the walls except for one dark corner. He puts his brush down. Early daylight is something he can still enjoy without it bringing extra pain. The beginnings of a day, rays of pink and orange that poked him instead of stabbing his senses, bring a sense of determination instead of exhaustion. A reminder that he once was human.

Hijikata all but shoves his doors open and stands in front of them. A breeze rushes against him, chilling but refreshing. He inhales the morning, the feelings that it's another day, another chance. He might stay up all night, but he has and always will be morning person. He doesn't understand how some people can sleep until noon or even later than that, unless they were ill. Nothing worse than lounging around, lying in bed, staring up at a ceiling and ignoring your tasks. He forgets the number of times he's yelled at Souji. Or Shinpachi. Or Heisuke. But even now, he can't do that anymore.

Mornings remind him that any day starts the same, the same sun that dawned over Shieikan, over the old Shinsengumi headquarters, and even now, here.

He does miss those days. Everyone was a little younger, a little more careless but more carefree, and alive or healthy.

"Kyokuchou."

"Saitou." He didn't even jump, being too used to this. They're both early risers, after all. Chizuru is as well, but he'll always be up earlier than her because of his thoughts on things that must be done.

They exchange the usual morning pleasantries before Saitou moves a little closer to hand him a letter. Hijikata skims it, frowns, and notes all the replies he'll have to make later.

"Sometimes, I feel like a scribe, battling with words."

"That is not dishonourable."

"No, but it gets tiring." He's sure he's rephrased certain things so many times until he's sick of saying them, but even then, some things didn't get their point across. Bureaucracy. How he hates it.

"I agree it is difficult to deal with at times." But there's a smile in that voice. "A stack of paper would be easy to cut down, though…"

"…" He looks at Saitou, who looks back at him, straight-faced.

"All right, how did you do that."

"Do what?"

"Make a joke. Are you really Saitou?"

Saitou looks him, and seems to search for an answer. "I can prove my identity—"

"No, I know it's you. It's only…" his voice trails off as he laughs. "You said a joke."

It wasn't even that funny. So why does he feel the urge to laugh until his stomach hurts? Maybe they're just a little desperate for something that isn't blood and fights.

"It was inspired by kyokuchou's comment."

"Mm. You have a point, though." It's very effortless to imagine drawing his sword and swinging it and watching letters and words fly and fall. Paper is light, so easy to cut, and watch a wind carry it all away.

The sun rises a little more, and he squints against it. A few more minutes, and then he'd go inside.

"Kyokuchou, I do have one question."

"All right."

"Do you…still compose haiku?"

"…" Hijikata turns sharply. "Do I still…compose haiku?" he repeats.

"Hai. The haiku that Souji always tried to steal."

"…oh, that." Souji and his limitless fun at Hijikata's expense. He rubs the back of his neck. "No, I haven't written in a while. I'm not even sure where I put that book. Souji kept taking it and at some point I stopped asking him for it. It's probably left behind in Kyoto, or it's…stuck somewhere in a box unpacked. Maybe he still has it."

"…then I have a confession to make."

"A confession?"

"I have your book."

"…"

Saitou's ears are pink. He's looking out at the sun, but his ears are definitely pink.

"How did you even…?"

"Souji gave it to me. He said he didn't have a use for it anymore, and he doubted you'd write in it again, and he left it with me because 'it wouldn't go to waste in your hands'."

Too many things about that sentence hurt. It's Souji, after all. For all their differences, he still hated the disease that kept Souji from doing what he wanted to do most. He couldn't even tell Souji about Kondou…no doubt, he'd get punched.

"—Hijikata-san?"

"Ah. You said something?"

"I asked if you would like to have your haiku returned."

"Oh." Does he want it back? The book he bound himself, filled with scribbles, the edges slightly bent from being handled—Souji isn't exactly kind to it—the words clumsy and honestly something he would never publish. "You can keep it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I think you were the only one who ever appreciated it." Even that one poem about blossoms. It had been a lovely spring night, and he had been standing on a road with trees on both sides. Words just aren't his forte, but he does try. "I'm sure you can write better haiku than I ever will."

"The simplicity was always its strength."

"…Saitou?"

"Some things need to stated in order to be seen and appreciated. When was the last time someone thought about how their heat beats and their lungs breathe, and it is life? Or, when did someone consider the persons around them to be a source of constancy or inspiration? Simplicity is all too often looked over."

Hijikata closes his mouth and scratches the side of his nose. Damn. He doesn't know if this warrants a pat on the shoulder or a kiss. He goes for tugging Saitou's sleeve until they stand shoulder to shoulder.

"Just. Stand there and don't say anything, all right? That's an order."

"Hai."

_Insubordinate words and an even more insubordinate smile. That's quite rude of you, Saitou, sneaking in compliments like that. _Hijikata thought he was good at it, but Saitou…did it naturally.

"Maybe there will be a day for haiku again," he finally says. "But they'll never be written about wars. Maybe not even the Shinsengumi."

Saitou lifts a shoulder. "Do you wonder if we will be remembered?"

"Right now, I don't care if we're remembered that way. I would prefer our deeds remembered—why we fought, why did this. If people only remembered 'the Shinsengumi existed,' that wouldn't be enough. That wasn't the point."

Then, what exactly was the point?

Sometimes silence is encouragement. Their shoulders pressed together; he doesn't ever remember a time they had held hands, probably because it never occurred to them that it's something to do, but they don't need that. Arm to arm, side by side, was a great enough comfort. Saitou's silence is a presence in itself.

"It's like you said—a source of inspiration and constancy—now that would be something worth keeping," he finally draws out from his mind. "Maybe I should wake Chizuru and tell her these things because I'm sure she'll outlive all of us."

A little late, he sees the complications with this statement.

Because she would cry, wouldn't she.

"Kyokuchou, I have a question."

"What is it?"

"Yukimura Chizuru."

He's not sure what emotion runs through him when Saitou says her name. "What about her?"

"Her well-being. Have you ever asked her how long she wishes to stay on?"

"Maybe I hinted. I think she wants to stay as long as she can."

"Is that wise?"

"I don't know," he admits. "But technically, we did promise to help her look for Koudou, and until then, she…I doubt she has anywhere to go."

It's been a long time since he's worried about her giving away secrets. What he's more worried about is someone finding out she's been part of the Shinsengumi and using her to get to them, if he gave her permission to leave. Or if they hurt her because of her associations with him.

Actually, would she even want to leave? He thinks about how much she's done for them…especially for him. If she left, there'd be quite a gap that no one could fill.

"Are you worried, Saitou?"

"Perhaps. More for the future, ours and hers." Saitou looks across the courtyard, blinking as the sun comes up a little more. "Kyokuchou, what are your thoughts on her?"

Hijikata chews on the inside of his lip. "She's very capable. Stubborn. Polite, and…" he searched for the right word. "Strong, in her own way. I don't ever think she's ever been naïve. Just a little unknowing. A lot of stuff was kept from her. She's honest, though."

There is definitely strength. While it's not the kind of strength people bragged out, about how good they were with a sword or how much they could carry, or how far they could walk, she's…well-adjusted. Her strengths lay in the careful insistence that he look after himself, the eagerness to help, and the quiet presence she would lend at the right times. She had been horribly nervous in the beginning, but that's expected. A compound full of men. The first months must have been lonely and long. Who knew that it took a bloody fight for him to gradually allow her more freedom because she proved her worth, a thousand times over?

"…she's not unlike you, Saitou," he finishes.

Something odd comes and goes too quickly in the other man's eyes. "I can see that. Although, as you said, she adjusts far more quickly than we do." There's been a lot of bad news for her. And yet after she dried her tears, she continued on. She still cared.

"…was there a reason you brought her up?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I do not think I can speak of that reason, right now."

"Very well." The sun's rays actually hit them now, and he winces and pulls back. "Hn. I'll never get used to this."

"Neither will I." Saitou's smile was a little sad. "I have no regrets for myself, but I wonder if there is a possible way to reverse the effects."

Hijikata lets out a short laugh. "If we ever find Koudou, I'll let you ask him."

He doubts it.

They'll probably die as rasetsu, and leave Chizuru behind, along with so many others.

That actually is the one large uncertainty in their future right now. It worries him, and after Saitou's questions, he sure the other thinks the same.

He turns towards his room, and then stops. "Saitou."

"Yes?"

A pause, and then he threads his fingers through Saitou's hair at the back of his head, and pulls him closer. They kiss just as the sun fully comes up and they both flinch and press closer to the doors, but Hijikata doesn't let him go until they need air.

Saitou's eyes flicker over him. "Your neck…"

"It's healed enough." It looks worse than it actually feels, but finally he doesn't need the bandage there. It was the most uncomfortable out of all the ones he's had to keep wrapped over his wounds, and although it still aches occasionally, it's mending.

Saitou's fingers are careful as they trace the area around the healing wound. But even he steps back, seemingly satisfied that Hijikata isn't playing it off.

"Honestly." He snorts and folds his arms. "The two of you…"

The confession on the tip of his tongue is that he feels loved. Very much so. He didn't think it possible, but in between battles and danger, between bloodlust and death, losses and winnings, everything—drinking Chizuru's tea, sharing meals, all the mundane things—there had been time for it. Life is stages, and he doesn't want this current stage to end.

He swallows the tight feeling in his throat as he shuts the doors behind him and Saitou.

They are not meant to stay together.

Neither of them has to say it out loud. Either one of them will die, or they will both die. Maybe a bullet or katana will hit a vital point. Maybe they'll expend their lives.

Something more painful than the injuries Kazama caused courses through him, head to shoulders to chest. He doesn't like to think about it, but those thoughts creep in anyway. They cause him to snap awake, roll on his side, arms folded tightly until he finally relax long enough to fall asleep again. They cause him to look away when Saitou is next to him, because one day, one of them will have to walk alone.

He didn't mean to love.

But even if they'd remained Vice Commander and Division Captain, he would still feel the loss. These were _his_ men, _his_ family. He loves them, too.

Saitou's just…a little more unique. Maybe partial favouritism. But the different types of love, can they even count as favouritism?

He'd very much like to take a sword to his own mind, to cut through stupid thoughts and find his way to the actually important ones.

"Hijikata-san, does your head hurt?"

Unconsciously, he's been rubbing the side of one temple, and Saitou has been looking at him for maybe three minutes now. "No. Just thinking."

"They do not appear to be pleasant thoughts."

"You look too much in the future, it starts to get intimidating." And it also tastes like acid when you speak about it. "But what am I supposed to look at, then, if not that?"

"At us."

"What?"

"At us. Those that follow you."

Sometimes, it's a little hard to stare directly into Saitou's eyes. They're uncharacteristically sharp, telling, and when he wants to, he can convey so much in his gaze that it makes you falter, blink, but not look away. They've never been clouded, not even when they're pain-filled or confused.

He knows, if he's the one to go first from this world, Saitou…he'll be all right. He'll find his way, like he always has. The path that was the one of the truest warriors.

But he very much wants to spare him the agony of loss.

"Then I'll look at you, as long as I can." It sounds really stupid. They're looking at each other right now. Can't he think of some metaphor, something better to say? Why is it that during these times, he says things that fall pathetically short of what he feels? "If you'll let me do that."

"Kyokuchou is…always allowed to look."

His face feels hot. "Always? Like now?"

At least Saitou's face matches his. "Yes," he replies, softly. "I have always looked at you, Hijikata-san."

He's actually relieved when Saitou leans in to kiss him. Kissing meant they didn't have to talk. Kissing meant they hold each other, hands lost in folds of clothing or in hair, touching skin and breathing deeply and moving closer.

Time isn't exactly on their side right now, because the sun's been up for a while, and soon enough they'll have to officially start their day. At least they're not in uniform yet; yukatas make this easier, even if the most he can do is shove his arms out of the sleeves and his hands underneath Saitou's clothes.

If he could, Hijikata would tell him that he could lose himself in Saitou's gaze, that time stopped and like the first time, he could forget. He could stay. He could remain himself, and find respite in a world that yanked them along. And he knows Saitou does the same. But he can't speak it, can't find the words.

He shows it far better in his actions, when they topple on his unmade bed and there's one faltering moment before Saitou presses his hands on Hijikata's shoulders, gaze questioning.

Hijikata's hand curls on the side of his flushed cheek, gently tugging on the dark strands of hair that frame Saitou's eyes.

_Go ahead._

Being with someone you know so well, whom you both have memorised and repeated things with—it's not tiring. The right touches, the exact placement of bodies and limbs. They know where to go and what to do. And even then, they find new things about each other.

However, today, they're in a slight hurry and it's more of their arms clinging, teeth clenching, and Hijikata pressing his mouth against Saitou's shoulder to muffle sounds while Saitou buries his forehead into Hijikata's. He keeps himself from biting down; ever since he came a rasetsu, he…likes to keep his teeth to himself. But it doesn't stop him from letting his hands wander, to see Saitou's shoulders stiffen, relax, and curl in closer. He strokes his fingers up and down the back that he knows better than his own, and then fights to withhold the noises in his throat when Saitou reached down between them.

His legs suddenly give out and they're an ungainly tangle of limbs when he shuts his eyes and digs his fingernails in, pressing one hand over his mouth. Had they been alone…

Saitou clutches at him and his drawn-out sigh speaks volumes. Hijikata's always been rather jealous of that, of the way Saitou can quietly come apart, but still be so expressive when he looks directly at Hijikata, eyes bright and relaxed at the same time.

He's the only one who has seen this. He can't say that about himself, but there's something genuinely touching about being with someone who you know you're their first…

For a few more minutes, they lay sprawled against each other. Finally, Saitou stirs and Hijikata helps him straighten his hair and clothes.

…guiltily, it's hard to not notice that being a rasetsu with fast-healing abilities is convenient. In past days, Saitou had a scarf, and Hijikata had been lucky he didn't wear his clothes loose, but now they didn't have to worry about noticeable marks. It's not even whether or not they're found out and possibly judged, it's that they liked it like this secrecy, being able to avoid observation and sharing something only between them…

Hijikata says something like this out loud, and Saitou nearly breaks into laughter, though he can't hide the smile on his face as he leaves.

When he puts the room to order and sits at his desk, he knows he will miss this. He'll miss many things.

However, Hijikata cannot say that he has more bad memories than good.

This would always be one of his best memories.

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**This part was…not easy write. Anything after Part 8 was tough. What do you when you have to tie things up? I wanted Saitou to finish everything because his story is nearly ending (T_T) and Hijikata's is still continuing. So some loose ends, some things needed finalisation. And there's also Chizuru to think about.

Like I said, this doesn't end in Saitou/Hijikata with flowers and sunshine (that's Souji's route lol). Hakuouki was always about the concept of mono no aware, of appreciating the things that are quick to arrive and quick to leave—transitions. I'm not well-versed in samurai beliefs/philosophy, but I do know there's an appreciation of such things. That character CD I linked to in a previous part, Saitou mentioned it—wabi-sabi, the appreciation of the transitional, imperfect, and incomplete. Simplicity and complexity sometimes are two separate things, and sometimes they're the same thing. There's the happy ending, and then there's the "the journey is more important than the destination." Saitou and Hijikata were a moment, of ifs and chances, and in this fic I let them criss-cross more than what was shown in canon. But ultimately, they cross away.

Yet both of them will appreciate this, the thing that was brief but fully tasted and enjoyed, something that they will remember fondly because it made a difference in their lives.

...okay I'll just leave that there and you can read my final ramblings in the last chapter.


	10. X

**Timeframe:** Extended scene of their farewell. Lifted some dialogue from Saitou's route as well, from his and Hijikata's last conversation.

_Goodbyes are the worst thing to write. always. And in a way, they don't really say it. They just nod and part ways, like the way they met. Walk in, touch lives, walk out. But that touch is more than most, and I tried to make this fit into canon...and I think succeeded._

* * *

><p><strong>X.<strong>

_"__After all…I don't think Hijikata-san could even if someone tried to kill him."_

The conversation is still fresh in his mind.

Saitou has suspected for a while things might come to this. The Shinsengumi never really stay put, following orders. But the Aizu Domain would always try to hold their ground, unyieldingly so. He's always respected that. Aizu was the first to recognise them, give them their name, and back them up.

But he couldn't say it. Opportunities had risen but he'd dismissed them all. If he chose the wrong time, it'd look as if he's abandoning his leader out of selfish ambitions. Not that Hijikata would think that, but there's more than just the two of them to consider.

There's also the other matter—of well-being. He had to be sure that he wouldn't rush ahead too eagerly into battle. Leaders and their tendency to do everything…

It's not difficult, to charge Chizuru with the duty he's given himself to long ago. He's seen the way she looked at him—looked after him, specifically. She carries reassurances with her, and he sees in her an innocence he doesn't have. Not innocence as in naivety, but more the sense that despite being touched by horrors of war and sadness, she retained herself after all these years. He couldn't exactly say that about himself, because he's definitely changed, for the better, but as for her? She is something unchanged and abiding.

_"__Please don't die, Saitou-san."_

He lets out a slow breath as he kneels before his swords, eyes lingering over the well-worn hilts and sheathes. He's the last to become rasetsu, meaning he has more life left out of those who took the ochimizu. But even he doesn't remember how much he has relied on it, how many times it has knit his skin, organs, and bones together.

He doesn't want to die. He'd like to live, to fight longer.

But should his time come, he could at least say he had very few regrets.

Hijikata is not one of those regrets. For sure, they've shared too much for regret to hinder them. Even so, he remembers the look on his Commander's face when he said he'd be staying with Aizu.

He had been expected to follow, to the end.

That's how much he's trusted. There is no doubt about that. But had there actually been any doubts, since they had been together?

This is why he doesn't expect his doors to come crashing down, although maybe Hijikata slams them just a tiny bit when he strides in. It's all within his expectations. It's not everyday a subordinate looks their leader square in the eye and says they aren't going to follow him anymore.

"Saitou."

"Kyokuchou." Even while he is ready to leave, there are some things that he does not, and will not change. He waits until the other draws nearer, and then he turns to face him. His superior. His guidance up to now.

Hijikata seems to search his face, lips parting once or twice as they sit across each other, like he has something to say. Instead, there is silence. The heavy kind, resonating with contained emotions. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft. "By now, I'm sure this isn't about something I've done wrong, nor is this something that you decided on the spur of the moment. But, Saitou—" Hijikata crosses his arms and sighs. "Damn. Should I have seen this coming? Was I too blind to see it."

"I apologise for my abrupt announcement. I…nearly said it, a few times. Yet I found that I couldn't."

"What kept you?"

He lowers his head. "Because I did not want for us to be distracted by an inexorable need to say farewell. You already had to much on your mind."

"You think I don't think about you?"

"…that was not what I meant."

"I'm not upset. I'm…I already knew. Not exactly this, but someday. Someday, we'd have to say our goodbyes." Hijikata's mouth twists upward on one side. "But I didn't see this coming this soon. It's been a little over a month and I thought…I thought I'd have you, for a little longer."

"I'm sorry." He stares at Hijikata's hands. "You had the right to know but I withheld this from you."

"Nothing to be sorry for. Maybe I should've told you that I'm all right with letting you go. You're not bound eternally to me in any way. If you wanted to leave like Harada and Shinpachi because your convictions changed, I can't judge that." There's a half-chuckle that seems closer to another emotion. "I should have told you years ago. Guess I…didn't really want to see you leave."

The control over his emotions wavers before he grips it again. "Kyokuchou, I still consider myself as part of the Shinsengumi, no matter what battles I fight."

"And I can understand that." His voice seems too gentle, too kind. "I have never doubted your convictions. They're clearer than mine sometimes."

"At times like this, I'd wish I could be in two places at once."

"Don't we all." The other man snorts. "Would save me from running around everywhere after Otori-san. But if there's two of me, Chizuru would need another one of her as well. In fact, she might as well have three of her to keep an eye on you as well."

The statement is so ridiculous that he smiles even as his eyes and nose sting. "I'm grateful for your concern," he says, fighting to keep his shoulders straight.

"I'm going to miss _your_ concern."

_I've placed my trust in you for so long._

_I have to get used to this._

It's not too difficult when they end up reaching for each other at the same time, and Hijikata accidentally elbows him in the stomach as Saitou wraps his arms around him. A pair of hands curls against his shoulders, and he breathes deeply.

"Concern is the only thing I can give right now." Hijikata's voice is rough. ""

"No, you have already given me so much."

"I'd give you so much more, if I could. More of me. More of…I don't know."

He bites the inside of his cheek. It's not that he is ashamed of his emotions, but he wants to hold on to this as long as he can before they both lost control. He can't, not yet.

"Under different circumstances, I would stay forever. I intended to…but…"

"Na, you better not beat yourself up when I leave you here. You gave your reasons, and I respect those reasons. That's all there is to it, yes? I promise I'm not angry, Saitou." He hears Hijikata swallow. "You're the last person I'd be angry with."

Saitou has thought long and hard about his decisions. How they'd affect Hijikata. He's gone through his mind to see if this could be called a betrayal, dishonour, a slap in the face, or abandonment. It sometimes like feels like Hijikata has offered so much, but he's offered so very little back. Conviction is a hard master, with loyalty sometimes being the overseer, or maybe even his conscience. He wouldn't call it a matter of heart, but rather something evokes feelings in him that he doesn't name. In the end, he has made his choice.

But would this parting be more painful or less difficult, if Hijikata had been angry with him? Or commanded him to stay? Or told him to leave and never come back? His job has always been to think of every scenario, to be prepared, and to accept any consequence.

Hijikata is like the odd factor in this equation of life.

Even after all this time, every possible conclusion needs consideration.

It's both staggering and relieving to know that they have gone so far down this path, together, that he can now throw all his conclusions and worries aside.

This was the reality.

It is nothing like their previous farewell. The heaviness is different, and so is the sadness. The last time was biting and harsh, and it left both of them raw. This time, it doesn't taste bad, but it still leaves an ache.

But he can say with a finality that whatever their futures are, this is now and it is a moment in time that cannot be substituted. It cannot be rewritten. Saitou does not mean for Chizuru to be a remedy, a replacement for him.

It's continuation. One love to another love. A promise for another promise. Saitou stands at Hijikata's back, sometimes at his side…

But Hijikata has two sides.

The other side, Chizuru will have.

He can understand that.

He can leave with that amount of peace.

But even as very sensible thoughts flow through Saitou's mind and beg to be said, he shoves it all aside in favour of pressing his face to Hijikata's shoulder and inhaling as deeply as possible. Hijikata's arms tighten around him until it hurts but he doesn't care.

He squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

No amount of word of gratitude would be adequate. No amount of contact would be enough to tell of the influence, of what is left behind. No matter what reasonings are given, _this still hurts and it will hurt._

Still, he has to try to say something.

"Hijikata-san…please look after yourself."

"Thought you knew me better than that."

"It is because I know you too well that I insist you remember yourself."

"So as long as you do the same. I don't want to hear about you dying too quickly. It would…I would…" A pause, and shoulders hitch. "I think you know how the sort of news would be taken. You don't want to make Chizuru cry, do you?"

"No…"

"So if I don't die, and you don't die, she won't have any reason to cry, and everyone goes home happy."

If this is an attempt to lighten the mood, it's working, slightly. Even if his heart is selling him out and causing his throat to tighten. "…yes."

"I'm serious, Saitou."

"I know."

They do not say the words "promise me." There is no guarantee. A will is strong, but fate is strong. Or the right bullet, a cannon, a sword, their own life running out—those are more than promises. Miracles didn't happen in wars.

"Kyokuchou, I have one final request."

"What is it?"

"Our banner."

"What about it?"

"I would like to carry it with me into battle, like how we usually have done." A red sign with one sole word emblazed upon it—誠, sincerity. Such a simple sign, but one that contained the spirit of so many men since the beginning of the Shinsengumi.

"The banner? It's yours to keep. You earned it long ago. Just because you're leaving doesn't mean you don't have the right. You're still Shinsengumi."

"Thank you, kyokuchou."

They fall silent again. Saitou is sure one of his arms has gone to sleep, but it's a small price to pay. He'd stay like this forever, if he could.

"Na, Saitou."

"Hai."

Hijikata seems to be talking for the sake of talking. "Do you think…the way we fight is doomed? More and more people use guns and cannons. Someday we might not even be able to carry swords anymore."

That's…a little terrifying. He remembers for a brief time how he walked without his sword. It was light, so light…but he couldn't…could he?

But that was when he had lost purpose and he need to find it again.

This time, he is choosing for himself. They are choosing.

"Hijikata-san, you are the one who adapts, in whom the spirit of the Shinsengumi will continue to survive in. I think…the Shinsengumi can live on, without the sword."

He finally rubs his arm, cringing a little at the pin-and-needles feeling rushing through. "We do not think we're doomed."

Just fated.

And maybe half unlucky, but to make for that, they're several times more stubborn.

The other man finally releases him with a sigh, though he still loosely keeps his arm around Saitou's waist. "I will miss you. Not just your skill or ability. Not…just the physical." He coughs. "I'll miss _you_."

Him, Saitou Hajime.

He has to press his hand over his eyes. This was so hard, harder than anything else he's had to deal with in life.

"_Hai_." The word hisses out between his teeth.

He can hear Hijikata draw a shaky breath. "I hope…this is the last goodbye I have to say. You—" He breaks off.

It only takes a little effort for him to catch his own breath, blink hard, and press Hijikata's head against his chest. Even after all this time, comfort is not their strong point, but they try.

Time melds together. Words are broken and started and amended. At times, they stare at the walls. Then they look at each other. One night cannot summarise years, and they don't try.

Morning finds them half-asleep, necks and shoulders aching from uncomfortable positions caused by dozing. Saitou rests his head on Hijikata's shoulder. Years ago, he wouldn't have done anything like this. It would've been imaginative, insane thinking.

He still has to remind himself that someone thought he was enough for them, that he deserves this. That Hijikata shared _this_ with him.

Finally, he pulls himself up. Hijikata's eyes are red-rimmed, heavy with circles underneath; Saitou knows his look the same.

It's almost time.

As if they had planned it, they move towards each other and their lips touch. Saitou slips his hands under Hijikata's jawline, while Hijikata places his fingers against his cheekbones. Memories flutter through his mind—every kiss, every touch, everything—it's there. It's all there.

This happened. This is them. And now, it will be over.

When they pull away, they're both shaky. They're both speechless. Because how do you even end something like this? You're staring at the last line of a book, and you must close it, but still you press the pages down and hold on to it, a little longer.

As they stare at each other, trying, failing, needing—Saitou suddenly knows. He takes Hijikata's hands in his, fingers stroking over calluses and rough nails, gently at first before they tighten.

The word is in his mouth, on his tongue, begging to be released. He forms it with his lips, but there is no sound.

There isn't a need for sound.

After all, they never needed to say it out loud. It's something they both knew and accepted, shared and cherished, gave and received, all these years.

Hijikata responds in kind, hands gripping Saitou's as his lips move. He leans forward, bumping their foreheads together.

"Honestly." And this time he can chuckle without sounding choked. "…we're terrible at this."

"Hai."

They would go their separate ways, with the same memories. A part of him is in Hijikata, and a part of Hijikata is in him.

When did loyalty become love, he's not sure. It doesn't even matter. It happened and he's grateful and as their hands separate and he watches Hijikata walk out the door, he can pull his shoulders back and straighten. He'll take his banner and sword proudly into battle, and fight to win, not fight to die.

This is the kind of love that ran deep, that touched souls and made it hard to breathe or think. And sometimes, it needs no words.

Theirs will always be an unsaid love.

**.end.**

* * *

><p><strong>Closing Notes:<strong>  
>While I like stories that have the perfect ending, sometimes I get a little tired of them. Movies that resolve things too fast, stories in which it's just love triangle after love triangle. I didn't want that for this fic. Saitou and Chizuru aren't fighting for Hijikata's attention. Yeah, that's a possible thing to have. Two people loving the same person doesn't always mean a love triangle.<p>

_You don't always end up with the first person you loved._

_You don't always hate someone you once loved._

_You don't always love just one person._

And I think more people need to understand that. Also, Saitou picks up on things. For sure, he's been thinking about Shinsengumi and Aizu for some time. And he was waiting for the right moment to say it. He…wants to leave Hijikata in good hands, hands better than his. Chizuru is a continuation, for which he is grateful for. I think he was waiting for something, for the right moment—and once he knew Chizuru cares the same amount, maybe even more, than he did for Hijikata, he can leave him to her with a peace of mind.

…but probably my favourite thing about them is at this point, that Hijikata can practically say anything on his mind to Saitou, freely and easily. That's pretty damn awesome in any relationship, okay.

There's a lot physical stuff that happens between Saitou and Hijikata, but there's also more. They leave so much unspoken. The game constantly says how they just look at each other, and there's understanding. How fucking nice is that.

TL;DR, I did my best and I hope this fic, now completed, was an enjoyment to read.


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